


Divined in Snow

by CaptainTarthister



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bloodlust, Character Deaths, Cunnilingus, Decapitation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Godswood Sex, Lactation Kink, Mentions Bronn, Mentions Incest, Post Game of Thrones Season 7, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Romance, Show Divergence, Smut, Still with show elements, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-03-29 21:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 74,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13935858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: It is a month after the meeting at the Dragonpit. Cersei Lannister now rules all of Westeros and her betrayal has put all her enemies in Winterfell, who can only wait for which side would deliver death to them first. Brienne is back as the Starks' sworn sword and shield. Jaime Lannister and his soldiers make a surprise and very unwelcome appearance.





	1. Wolves of Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeleneU](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneU/gifts).



> SeleneU, for you! Hopefully this cheers you up a little. I'm sorry I can't do a one-shot, sweetie.

Repeated blares of horns warned those in Winterfell of riders, intruders. _Soldiers._ Brienne nearly collided into Lady Sansa as they raced to the ramparts of the castle, where Jon Snow and Lady Arya already stood watching the horizon. She turned her eyes there and drew a sharp breath from the icy mist surrounding them. It was the feeling of a spear in her heart and the sight before them that made her blood run cold.

Moving steadily, like a sure, flowing river, was an army clad in crimson cloaks. Their advance was the ripple of blood, of the slain on the ground after a battle. “My King, Lady Sansa,” came the voice of Lord Yohn Royce. “I advise that you seek shelter immediately, or to hurry and leave only with your trusted men.”

“We will do no such thing,” announced Sansa in a surprisingly steely voice. “The Lannisters will have to take Winterfell from every living Stark.” She glanced at Jon who nodded, although Brienne could see him grimace at how his half-sister had once again taken over authority that he believed should be his.

“Get the archers ready,” Jon instructed Royce. To Brienne, he said, “Remember your oath to Lady Catelyn Stark.”

“You don’t mean to have me hide with hens?” Arya suddenly demanded as he turned to leave.

“You’re a Stark,” he told her firmly. “I’m not.”

“You’re my brother.”

“A bastard half-brother,” he reminded her.

“I’m better at killing than you.” She glared at the other soldiers. “All of you.”

Brienne saw Jon pale at her words. As little as Arya was, her words were true. She did not condone violence but believed in revenge. Walder Frey deserved the clean, swift slash of the knife across his throat.

“You’re a Stark,” Jon repeated then left without another word. Royce and the other men followed him.

“Your G-Grace,” Brienne managed to say. She slipped past the two sisters and took off after him while Podrick smoothly took her place in front of them. As her strides were twice the length of most men’s she was quick to reach him. Jon turned to look at her.

“Be quick, Lady Brienne.”

“You and I were at the Dragonpit. We were there when the Queen made the oath to send her troops north,” she said, relieved she didn’t stumble over the title that Cersei Lannister achieved through fire and blood. _Her son. Queen Margaery. Lady Olenna. Her own cousin. Her uncle._

“You were there in the council meeting when Tyrion Lannister told us of Cersei’s treachery. They are not to be trusted.” He said, clearly displeased for her daring to speak so impudently.

“I trust Ser Jaime with my life, Your Grace,” Brienne insisted. “The Queen—”

She stopped speaking when Jon suddenly stepped forward. Though he was significantly shorter than her, there was no mistaking the power and authority he held. He was a bastard but one who could fight, knew how to lead an army and inspire loyalty. In that he reminded her of Renly.

It felt like another lifetime ago.

“May I remind you that the Dragon Queen is within the walls of Winterfell,” he said in a low voice. “To call Cersei Lannister as you are in _Queen_ Daenerys’ presence would have her demanding for your head, Lady Brienne. I may be king and you are sworn to my sisters but there is little we can do in preventing that punishment should she overhear you.”

“I humbly ask for you forgiveness, then,” Brienne snapped. Now was not the time to deal with proper titles. Loyalty still had value but so did life. Her allegiance was with the latter, protecting and ensuring it. “But while Cersei may have fooled us, I _know_ Ser Jaime will not. He would never.”

“Lannisters murdered my father, cut the throat of your Lady Catelyn and hacked my brother Robb’s head off his body and his wolf, desecrated the corpses of all the Stark men. Jaime Lannister threw Bran from the tower. Do my sisters know where your true loyalties lie?”

“Lady Sansa knows Ser Jaime has always been kind to me.” Brienne refused to be provoked. It was a dark day in the council when Tyrion told them that his sister had fooled them all. With Daenerys and her dragons, her Dothraki and Unsullied in Winterfell with the Starks and their armies, they were trapped. Farther north was an army of the dead that grew unceasingly. South was snow and the rest of Westeros now under Cersei Lannister’s tyranny. They could only wait for which enemy would come to them first.

“Kind,” Jon spat. “Even I wouldn’t call Tyrion Lannister that. And that’s what you say of the Kingslayer? That murderer? The man who openly fucks his twin sister?”

 _Kingslayer. Oathbreaker._ Jaime’s feverish slur from the baths in Harrenhal returned to her, almost as real as if he were standing right next to her. She visibly flinched from the last sentence the king flung at her. Seeing this, Jon was smug.

“I have seen monsters that would make your worst nightmare run away screaming, Lady Brienne. The Kingslayer at my doorstep with his thousands-strong army is nothing. The only way he’ll make it inside our walls is without his head—”

“Look!” Arya suddenly shouted.

They all hurried to the side and watched as a long rider broke apart from the army surrounding the castle. Atop his white horse galloping on snow-covered ground, Jaime Lannister was only visible because of the faint light on his golden head and the vivid crimson of his cloak. He glanced up. Despite being too far away to make out his expression, she felt him single her out.

_He was alone._

Brienne froze upon hearing the archers ready their bows and arrows. She suddenly grabbed the king on the shoulder. Her eyes blazed at his startled expression.

_“You will not hurt him!”_


	2. A Man Without Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves for a lot of OOC! Here they come!

Brienne expected swords at her throat the moment she grabbed the king. Royce and the three other guards got ready to draw their swords when Sansa suddenly stepped between her and her brother. In a voice of exacting calm, she said, “Jon, he rides alone. Could we not give him the benefit of the doubt? If Brienne says he has always been kind to her then I believe her. He never laid a hand on me nor hurt me in any way when I was in King’s Landing.”

The archers were still in position, watching Ser Jaime approach with one eye and the exchange among them with the other. Brienne’s expression remained challenging as Jon stared at her grimly. Seeing he was unrelenting, Sansa put a hand on his arm.

“I caution against impulse,” she said, looking in his eyes.

Jon seemed to center himself and inclined his head slightly at her. Then without another word, turned to leave. Brienne gasped and tried to go after him when Sansa grabbed her.

“My lady—” she started to protest.

“No. We have to trust Jon,” Sansa insisted.

But Brienne didn’t. In her eyes, he was a usurper. He took the north back from the Boltons. He united the northerners with the Wildlings. But he did not belong on the high table. It chafed, how a man who had no rights to such a claim could get it simply because of an appendage between his legs. He was a Stark, but half, and a bastard. Winterfell was not his to rule.

“Ser Jaime is a man of honor,” Brienne said in a low voice. “I don’t have the right to counsel the—the king, my lady, but he should at least listen to you.”

“He will. He does, in his own way.” Sansa’s bristly tone indicated this annoyed her. “Arya,” she called to her sister. “Come.”

“No. Jon is riding out to meet him,” Arya answered. Brienne and Sansa looked at each other before rushing to the edge again.

Brienne watched as Jon, riding his black stallion, rode towards Jaime. Jaime pulled his horse into a smooth halt and waited for the king to approach him. Of course, he would, and it should make her smile that even with arrows ready to pierce him to the ground, he still displayed such arrogance and recklessness. How many a night had the thought of him pulled a smile from her? He was a man of honor. She still would like to believe that. But it was a battle where she was his sole defender and the armies against them increased with each charge. _Oathbreaker. Kingslayer. Sister-fucker._ She could only fight so much and for so long.

Was she a fool for believing he had managed to sway Cersei to the side of the living?

 _But, ser,_ she wanted to say to him, _how can you protect me from monsters and lay with one?_

Seeing the twins together at the Dragonpit, with Cersei looking ahead with a sharpness in her eyes that gave her beauty a vicious edge and Jaime following closely, had been more painful than she was willing to admit to herself. As wrong as the nature of their relationship was, there was no mistaking the bond between them. _I’m a Lannister. Do not ask me to betray my house_ , Jaime told her in Riverrun. She would never ask him to turn his back on family, let alone to a sister he loved his whole life. But how could evil inspire such a love? She was sickened by Sansa’s accounts of what Cersei had done to her back in King’s Landing, at how she just stood by and let Joffrey whip and strip her before the entire court. _The king had been her son, a child, and she had let her own child humiliate and degrade another._

Love was indeed blind but Brienne would like to believe it didn’t eradicate sense altogether. She poured her anger at Jaime’s into sparring with Pod, with Arya, who goaded her into hitting her harder and harder, and even that wildling fellow with the red beard. The one who always looked at her as if he could see through her armor. _The armor Ser Jaime had made for her, the sword he gave to protect Sansa. What had happened to him when she left King’s Landing? Riverrun? How could he remain at her side when she had murdered so many?_

Yet she clung to memories of his honor. _The loss of his sword hand. The bear pit. In the White Sword Tower, when he charged her to search and protect Sansa_.

Distance from Cersei seemed to awaken honor in Jaime. And every time he was with her, he reverted to that hateful bastard who shoved a child off a tower so he could resume fucking her.

They were too far away to hear the exchange between Jon Snow and Ser Jaime. He held up a hand, probably as a gesture of peace. Jon did not make the same gesture. Brienne imagined the sardonic expression on Jaime’s face, how he would dismiss the king as a child, a dolt in his mind.

Suddenly, more riders joined them. Yohn Royce. Jorah Mormont. And that Wildling. _Tormund._ Brienne glanced at the crimson mantle the Lannister soldiers had formed in the field, expecting one of them to break away and stand with Ser Jaime. _Ser Bronn_ , she thought. But no one did.

Then a last rider from Winterfell went to them. On her white horse, with her white hair blowing behind her as she galloped toward them. _Daenerys._

“He’s making a mistake,” Brienne growled and turned, shoving aside Pod and another set of guards. She stormed down the stairs, ignoring the people who leaped out of her way as she charged determinedly, her ugly face uglier in her fear and frustration. When she reached the courtyard of Winterfell and made for the gates, two guards stopped her.

“We have our orders,” one of them said, looking at her with distaste. “Stay back.”

“Lady Brienne,” it was Arya, who had soundlessly followed her. “Must I remind you who you’re sworn to?”

Brienne winced but said, ““Starks are not cold-blooded murderers.” She tried to get past the guards again. “Let me through or I’ll break your ribs.”

“King’s orders, idiot,” the second one spat. His bravado vanished when she gave him a look that promised more than broken ribs later.

“We remain here. Not because my brother wants us to but because you are to remain at our side,” Arya said. As she spoke, Tyrion Lannister began to approach them. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so trusting of Lannisters, Brienne.”

“I’ll protest but she’s right,” Tyrion said when he reached them. His mismatched green and black eyes took in Brienne. “Once I believed in my brother, Lady Brienne. That time has passed. You told him yourself that now is not the time for houses, honors and oaths, but for living. My brother and sister choose the living but it’s an exclusive partnership.”

“Your brother has one hand and is without a sword. He has an army right behind him that can kills us all in one swoop. Yet you doubt him?” Brienne demanded.

Tyrion was grave. “He’s not the brother I thought I knew. Now my sister,” his smile did not reach his eyes as he spread his hands, “has always been a mad, murderous cunt.”

Brienne grunted as she shoved at the guards. As they fell, she made her way for the gates, ignoring the shouts and violent scuffle to stop her. Yet the tip of a slender blade found her throat.

“Don’t, Brienne,” Arya said, for the first time giving her a glimpse of the little girl she still was. Then she pressed the tip of her sword at her pulse. “You know my skill. I’ll have your tongue before you can take another step.”

“Listen to the girl, Lady Brienne.” Tyrion said. “Dying for a Lannister is not a tragedy but a waste.”

“Open the gates!” Someone said from one of the towers. Arya removed Needle from Brienne’s throat as everyone stood aside to let the riders through. First was Jon and Daenerys on their respective horses.

And then Jaime.

 

******  
  
_A Lion in the north, surrounded by snarling wolves._

At the High Table, Jon sat with Daenerys, and flanked by Tyrion, Sansa, Arya and Bran. Brienne was close by, as was Jorah, Lord Varys, Royce and Tormund. Around them lords from the Umbers, Karstarks, Mormonts and what remained of the Wildling commanders.

Standing in the middle of calls for his head was Jaime Lannister. Gone was his crimson cloak, revealing the humble but well-crafted clothes of a commoner. Gloves protected his hands from the cold. A shaft of light fell on him from above, illuminating even more his golden appearance amidsts the angry, listless mob of gray and blue.

Brienne stared at the empty scabbard at his side.

When she raised her eyes, he was looking at her. Watching her. She lowered her eyes, tried to look away as she had in the Dragonpit but she was weak. With what little slyness she possessed, she slid her eyes over to him and found herself staring right in his emerald eyes.

He had looked at her with exasperation and genuine worry in the Dragonpit. Now he looked at her as if. . .what? She couldn’t say. Only that his eyes refused to leave her face.

“The King will dare not negotiate with a Kingslayer. A man without honor!”

“He fucks his sister!”

“He tried to kill Lord Bran!”

“Lannisters murdered your family, Your Grace!”

“Silence.” With one word, Jon brought them all to heel.

“Your Queen swore not just to a temporary peace but also to send men here in the north in the war against the Night King,” he began. “Yet as soon as our backs were turned you took Dragonstone. You pillaged _Tarth._ ” There was no questioning why he emphasized it. “Do you think we performed a mummer’s show with the beast we brought before you and your sister?”

“The men with me are not Cersei’s,” Jaime answered after a moment. “They are here because I made a vow. Like you, we are on the side of the living.”

“Do you think me a fool, Jaime Lannister?”

“Oh, no.” Jaime answered in a tone that conveyed that he thought the exact opposite. Brienne tensed. Now was not the time for sass. “Kings are infallible, as we are taught to believe. Or is it maesters?”

“Why are you here?”

“To fight for the living.”

“What proof do you offer that your vow is sincere?”

“None.”

It was enough to send everyone shouting again. Brienne would have staggered from the hate and anger pouring out of every throat in the Great Hall. Daenerys said something to Jon, who looked at her and nodded.

“Kingslayer,” Daenerys said. “You claim to fight for the living. But when the war is over, which of the living will you side with? Or is it back to your sister’s cunt?”

Roars and laughter went throughout the hall. Brienne bowed her head, feeling shame for Jaime. But he seemed to take it all in stride, with a cold smirk on his face. Her stomach tightened in knots. It was a ghost of the smile he gave once, when he told her that killing him would mean the death of the Stark girls but if she didn’t, he would kill her.

She had never seen him smile like that. Not during their time together. He looked like he was going to cry every time they parted but that was only her imagination. Sword, shield and vows had not stamped out the flutters of her young heart for a love that would never be for her.

And perhaps she should remember that. Once a name was tainted, there was no saving it. Honor was not for men like Jaime. What a fool she had been, believing in his goodness when he gave her Oathkeeper, when he vowed to let her cross the battle lines in Riverrun without harm. He had let her, to see what the Blackfish would do. _Remember._

“You say you have nothing to offer as proof of your vow,” Tyrion spoke up when the noise began to die down. “But if there is someone who would speak for you, brother, then we might be swayed, somewhat, to believe your claim.”

Jaime’s eyes found her again.

“No,” he said quickly, turning back to Jon. “There is no one.”

_You’re a fool._

Brienne stepped forward. For a woman her size, not only was every movement punctuated even more, but the impact was at least twice as much. Sansa and Arya stared at her. Jon gave her a look meant to disintegrate her right where she stood. Only Bran stared straight ahead. He wore an expression of peace.

“He lies, my lords,” she declared.  

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Brienne was the last person who spoke in the previous chapter and now it ends with her again. I debated between having her or Bran do it. Bran in the show has visions, can see in the future and the past but he's no mind reader. So in the end. . .such is the ending we have.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. The North Remembers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More OOC.

_“He lies?”_ Sarcasm dripped from the Cley Cerwyn’s voice. He shot a derisive look at Brienne, his eyes trailing slowly from the top of her head towards the exposed, lionhead pommel of Oathkeeper at her hip. “Of course that’s what the bitch says. Look at her sword!”

Sansa looked outraged at his insult of Brienne and reprimanded him sharply. “Lord Cerwyn, for as long as you stand in the Great Hall of Winterfell, before the Starks, you will give the utmost respect to our sworn sword and shield. Any insult to the Lady Brienne is an insult to _us._ ”

But Cley Cerwyn wouldn’t be abated. “Look what the presence of the Kingslayer is already doing to us!” He exclaimed, shooting to his feet and storming towards Jaime. Brienne pushed at Tormund’s shoulder as she sprang towards Jaime, to the shock of everyone, including the young lord. Freezing in his tracks, he swallowed at her sword already half-drawn from the scabbard. Then his eyes narrowed and he smirked.

Jaime had flung his arm in front of her, his body turned towards the young man in a stance that was clearly of defense. Of her.

“Lady Sansa, King Jon,” Cerywn continued, turning toward the High Table with a knowing look. “You defend this southron beast but look at whose side she stands. And look at the lion at your table that’s ready to betray you.”

Tyrion sat back and quipped, “Bloodshed within Winterfell walls among us when the Night King breathes down our necks would mean more meat for his army, Lord Cerwyn.”

“Sit down,” Jon ordered Cerwyn. “Insults to anyone will not be tolerated.” He glared at Jaime. “No matter how richly deserved. Stand down, Lady Brienne.” As Lord Cerwyn went bak to his seat, Jon added, "An insult to my sister, the Lady of Winterfell, and her protector, is unforgivable, Lord Cerwyn. Lest you wish for your House and people be cast out and stripped of your title and lands."

Sansa looked haughtily as Lord Cerwyn made a deep, awkward bow, first to her, then Brienne. Brienne had to stop herself from slamming the heel of her boot on his bent neck."I apologize, my ladies. There is no excuse for my harsh words." 

"Indeed," she replied. "Make another slight, verbal or otherwise to our protector and it is not just your lands and titles you'll lose. Remember that I wished that for your House for refusing to fight with us against the Boltons. Remember that my brother overruled me. Remember that I am just waiting for another incident of your inexcusable harshness. Rise. And hold your tongue until I say otherwise." 

Brienne had never been more proud of Sansa at that moment. Lord Cerwyn visibly blanched at her words as he straightened up. Though sitting down and looking pale and gray, she was regal and commanding. The Queen of Winter. Lord Cerwyn shuffled back to his seat. Sansa gave a slight nod at Brienne. Jon, seeing the exchange between them, gave his sister a pointed look. There would be words later. Though brother and sister often presented a united front, there was mutual dissatisfaction and mistrust. Jon may have rallied the other northern lords and Wildlings against the Boltons but it was Sansa that pushed him, Sansa who possessed the name that they all fought under. Sansa met his stare with clear defiance before turning back to the audience.

Sheathing the sword back in its place, Brienne stepped back and Jaime lowered his arm. He watched her retreat back to the side, as if checking to make sure she obeyed the order. She couldn’t understand him at all. Why won’t he let her speak for him? After all he had done for her? How can he just let them hurl abuse at him? You are not the monster you believe yourself to be, she longed to say him, taking in his snow-dusted hair and beard, his Lannister cloak that still bore the rich, vivid crimson of his house but with the furred edges frayed and bald. It looked like it could hardly stand against the cold for another week.

Suddenly, Lady Lyanna Mormont got to her feet.

“You declare this hall to be no place for insults but you have allowed not one but two living Lannisters in Winterfell,” she told Jon. “Do you forget what the Lannisters did to us?”

“The sins of one house to another hardly matters now for the war that is at our door, Lady Mormont,” Jon told her.

“Lannisters unleashed Boltons to the north. Ramsay Bolton flayed Lord Cerwyn’s father, mother and brother right in front of him. Lannisters collaborated with the Freys and Boltons to slaughter Lady Catelyn and your brother like animals. They hung _my mother_ by her entrails.” Her expression was sour as she turned to Tyrion. “Your nephew, your _son,_ ” she growled at Jaime, whose face was stony, “and your sister had Ned Stark’s head hacked off from his body. You crippled Lord Bran Stark.”

Jaime didn’t flinch but Brienne noted the tensed line of his firm jaw, the stiffening of his shoulders. She could not defend him this time. Not against Lyanna Mormont but because the fierce leader of Bear Island spoke the truth.

“Forgive me, King Jon,” Lyanna continued. “You are the king and we follow you but everyone in this room lost family and loyal men and women to lions who thought they could take and do whatever they wanted with no consequence. I applaud you for trying to rise above insults but not us. I don’t care if Tyrion Lannister has a good head on his shoulders. He is hand to a Queen whose father's madness destroyed families too. Jaime Lannister disgusts me. Their presence is an insult to us all.”

Turning back to Jaime, she added, “Every time you draw breath is because of the thousands your House murdered.”

“We’re at war, Lady Mormont,” Jaime answered. “It is the price every soldier pays. Including your mother.”

“ But not our mother,” came Arya’s quiet but clear voice. “Not Bran. Not my sister and me. Not the children forced to lead their houses because you annihilated their fathers and mothers.”

“War doesn’t choose who it takes. Despite the fervent vows and prayers of soldiers that they be the only ones to pay,” Jaime countered. “We’ve all lost someone.”

“You mean Joffrey?” Arya scoffed. “Do you mourn for the monster who had my sister stripped and beaten by Meryn Trant in front the court?”

“I did not come here to make a tally of the dead with you,” Jaime declared although he looked pained at what she said. “I’m here to honor the pledge I made at the Dragonpit. What quarrel you have with me should only be with me and need not involve my men. Take my offer or not, the choice is yours.”

“You come here to help, you say,” Daenerys suddenly said. “Yet you act as if we need you.”

“Is that what you read from what’s been happening?” Jaime was sarcastic. Brienne started forward, meaning only to warn him. Her movement drew attention back to her and she flushed.

Tormund snorted. “There’s one who needs you, that’s for sure.”

Jaime looked at him, his expression sardonic. “Forgive me. But judging from the forest growing from your head and face, it’s clear we have never met. I never thought it true that the north has allied with everyone until right this second. Strange, however, that an army in need of more men who know how to fight is. . .shall we say. . .picky? With regards to what I offer, just to be clear. Certainly not with this bearded fellow.”

He chuckled as Tormund went up to him. Brienne hurried to them, knowing what the wildling was capable of.

“Does your mouth stay open as often as your sister’s legs?” He said to Jaime.

Jaime grunted and shoved Tormund. Tormund laughed and pulled out a knife. Brienne skidded between them just as he slashed it through the air and she stopped him with a bone-crushing grip on the wrist.

“Don’t. Or I’ll cut you in half.”

“His sister hanged your father and you defend him?” Tormund demanded in disbelief. He angrily shook her hand off him as he pushed the knife back in its scabbard

 She had sent ravens to Tarth upon finding out that the Golden Company was setting sail for Westeros under Cersei’s orders. Last week, a forlorn raven flew back. It was a message written by Cersei herself, addressed to Jon. _The Evenstar sways from the cliffs of Tarth._

Brienne had been screaming in her sleep since being told. Night after night, she saw the Golden Company putting the noose around her father’s neck then pushing him down the cliff. She heard the crunch of his bones snapped and broken as his fall was cut by a hanging branch breaking through the stone. All her life she had disappointed her father, being too tall, too ugly, taking the sword instead of needle. She couldn’t even be at his side to die with him.

“Lannisters and their gold,” Royce said in disgust. “Blood or gold. And the wench is your protector?”

Jaime’s eyes were as sharp as daggers. “Her name is Brienne. Call her by her name.”

“Lord Royce, must the king remind you about his intolerance for insults?” Jon said.

“Stop,” Brienne whispered to Jaime, taking his hand in hers before she could stop herself. He froze and looked at their joined hands. “Ser, don’t. Please.”

“What are you doing?” He asked. She blushed and started to retract her fingers but he held them fast. “Brienne, you’re endangering yourself. Don’t do that for anyone. Least of all for me.”

“Did you think of that when you leapt into the bear pit?”

“I dreamed of you. Now step away, Brienne. Please.” The pleading note in his voice startled her. As his hand loosened from around her, he added, “It’s always good to see you, no matter the circumstance.”

As Brienne returned to her position by the wall, Tormund followed her. “I can’t believe you would willingly speak for a man who fucks his sister and murdered people to keep fucking her," he hissed.

It was a dagger to the gut but she was also furious and barely able to control herself. “And you claim to be better? You who fucked a bear?”

“At least she wasn’t my blood and we didn’t pass off any monsters as another man’s.”

“Are you telling me you never murdered anyone to protect someone you loved?”

“Don’t try to make me see things from his side, Brienne. We are different men. I may look like a beast, but your pretty man is the real animal here.”

“He is _not_ my man.”

“Tell that to the blind, deaf, mute and stupid.”

“What plans do you have for me?” Jaime asked Jon. “I came here on good faith. To honor a vow I made. Yet you removed my sword, took my mount. Kill me, burn me, flay me. Do something.”

 “Why should I believe you’re here for that reason?” Jon demanded. “Your own brother doesn’t trust you. Why should I?”

“You don’t have to trust me to win against the Night King.”

“As only a man without honor will say.”

“No question,” Jaime said smoothly but Brienne saw him flush. “But as we stand here debating my lack of virtues, the Night King’s armies grow. You don’t have to believe me, Your Grace. However, let’s be honest. You need me. And my men.”

“We don’t need your sister,” Daenerys announced.

“He’s here because Cersei betrayed everyone.”

The words came from Bran. Brienne regarded the young, crippled lord. Since his return, he had told his sisters of his visions. They really couldn’t understand it. Bran admitted the same struggle.  

She turned to Jaime, who looked momentarily stunned before shaking his head.

“Someone has been telling you very strange bedtimes stories,” he said.

“He found out she lied,” Bran continued. “That she was sending everyone to their deaths here. She threatened to have him killed. By the Mountain.”

“Lies again,” Jaime insisted but she heard the slight catch in his voice.

“My mother freed you to get my sisters back. Lady Brienne swore to her to help you fulfill that vow. The Boltons caught you. You lost your hand because they were going to rape her.”

Bile welled up in Brienne’s throat. There were still nights when it haunted her. The men pawing and hitting her, another grabbing for her cunt while she was getting punched in the jaw. Think of me, Jaime advised before camp that night. As if by imagining his face on monsters would make the ordeal easier. Then she was suddenly hauled back into the camp, once again tied to the tree. As soon as she was secure, Lock hacked off Jaime’s hand.

Her eyes went to his right, knowing that under the glove was his golden hand. The entire room was suddenly silent.

“Who has been telling you these stories, my lord?” Jaime’s voice was strained.

“No one. I see them as clearly as I see you now, Ser Jaime.” Bran answered. “I can see the past. I know why you murdered the Mad King.”

“Someone has been telling you stories.” He narrowed his eyes at Brienne upon catching her looking at him. Surprised at what he was implying, she flushed. He nodded, as if her action had given him an answer. “That’s all they are. Stories. Now, King Jon, what do you intend to do with me?””

“I have no reason to doubt my brother.” Jon said. “As King of a people, I have to do all I can to ensure the survival of the many, even if it would mean working with enemies. As a man from a family that your House came close to bringing into extinction, I should cut off your head.” 

“I’m here to honor a pledge I made.” Jaime answered quietly. “A pledge to fight for the living. I am not here as a Lannister. I’m just a man,” he emphasized, gesturing at his humble garb under his armor. “Another warm body for the wars to come. Missing a hand but ready to fight, nevertheless, if the north will have me.”

“But Ser Jaime,” Sansa said, smoothly cutting off Jon. “You must understand why we don’t welcome you. The last time you were here you tried to murder my brother.”

Jaime stared at Bran and took a deep breath. “I did what I had to do in to protect my sister. And our children.”

“And you wonder why we don’t trust you?” Jon remarked.

“Hanged, quartered, whipped, beheaded, flayed. The list is endless. But I am a man without honor. Whatever I say will be perceived as a lie. Why waste my time trying to convince you I speak the truth? So, I’ll just be blunt so you can do what you want. Get it all over and done with.”

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Brienne growled at him. She was fed up with whatever act Jaime was doing. He looked so defeated, so resigned. It was him after the loss of his hand all over again. _I was that hand._ She would have beaten him, forced him to eat if he had not bee struck with fever. _Your sister did this to you. You think you deserve what’s happened to you._

“You say you’re not here as a Lannister but your stupid pride clearly says you are still one, no matter the distance from the capitol. You stand there just accepting their insults and abuse. You say you’re ready to fight? How can you fight when you won’t even fight for yourself, in here?”

“Don’t speak of things you don’t understand.”

“Don’t educate me on things I already know.”

“I am not putting her up to this. Lady Brienne owes me nothing,” Jaime announced.

“Lord Bran did not lie. I never told him anything. I owe you nothing, that is true. But if my knowledge of who you are would cease the abuse on your person, then I shall speak. You are a man of honor, Ser Jaime.” She wanted to shake him violently until he saw sense. “You disparage him for killing Aerys. Why? Your father,” she said, turning to Daenerys, “burned Rickard alive and had his son Brandon strangled while he watched. Your brother kidnapped Lyanna Stark—”

“You have no right to speak of matters you know nothing about,” Jon warned her. He glanced at Daenerys, whose arrogant expression vanished upon the mention of her brother. “You will cease.”

“Aerys was going to burn the entire King’s Landing with Wildfyre! Jaime did what he had to save over half a million people! His sword ended the war. No more fathers taken from their sons. No more sons ripped from their mothers.”

“Lady Brienne—” Sansa tried to say but Brienne refused to be stopped. She pointed at Daenerys.

“Your dragons may save us. But they could just as easily turn against us. We’ve heard of your exploits from the East. Freeing men from chains yet taking what you believe to be yours with fire and blood. Just exactly what your father did to the continent. To fathers and sons. Your brother took another woman despite being married and having children.”

“Brienne, please.” This time, it was Jaime who had spoken. “Stop. Don’t. No more.”

_“Shut your mouth.”_

A glaring silence filled the hall at her words to Ser Jaime. But she had said too much already and there was no turning back. Brienne only knew to plunge forward.

“I can’t believe what you’re letting them do to you! Are you here only for your pledge? Or is it to punish yourself? Because if you’re here thinking you deserve to die for your sister’s atrocities, _I_ don’t have need of you.” Her sapphire eyes burned. “We fight to survive the winter. If not all of us then those we love to live and see spring. We fight not to die, Ser Jaime. You have no fucking right to take any of us with you as some penance for what---for the murders you committed in Cersei’s name? If you want to die then _you_ put a sword in your heart.”

“Nothing of what she says is true,” Jaime insisted. Brienne wanted to throttle him.

“At what point will you stop lying, Ser Jaime?” Bran asked.

“I came here to pledge my army. Do whatever you want with it. I’m not going to take this.” Jaime turned on his heel.

“You haven’t been dismissed,” Jon reminded him. “Stay where you are or, loyal to you or not, I’ll have Brienne end you right where you stand.”

Jaime looked disbelieving until he saw Brienne’s hand on the pommel. “You’re wasting time dissecting my intentions. You want proof of my loyalty? Then keep me prisoner. Starve me. Kill me, hang my corpse out to rot and to serve as a warning to my men. Whatever the fuck you want. You want my men to follow your orders? Then do what you want with me. If you have me by the balls, they’ll follow everything you say to the letter. That’s how good they are.”

“Is it true what Lady Brienne said? That you came here to die?” Daenerys asked in a civil tone.

“Anyone who dreams of surviving this war deludes herself that summer is coming.”

“Leaving our sister should give you a reason to live,” Tyrion said. “Not do without hope.”

“Do you still believe that about me?”

“You saved me from her. And father.”

“You killed our father.”

“You got me out of King’s Landing because you knew of Cersei’s plan about me,” Brienne added quietly. Cersei’s eyes had gone so cold it was like looking at death when she revealed to Brienne she knew her exact feelings for Jaime. “And you warned me again at the cellars of the Red Keep. All because I touched you. Because you were hers and hers to do as she wants.”

 

 

*****  
_It happened just after the second meeting at the Dragonpit. As she and Podrick were getting ready to board the ship, a street urchin had given Brienne a message. Podrick cautioned her against going alone but she refused to let him come along. She trusted Jaime. She had asked him to speak to the queen and he had._

_Bronn was waiting for her and took her back to the Red Keep. There, surrounded by the skulls of Targaryen dragons, waited Jaime. She hesitated, blushing at the small smile he gave her before walking toward him._

_It was a short meeting. Cersei had not been pleased with her brazen attitude towards him and warned her to be on her guard. “My sister vowed to send an army to your dolt king but that won’t stop her from trying to hurt you. Sleep with one eye open. Never eat or drink anything you haven’t prepared yourself.”_

_“Thank you, ser.”_

_“Ser? Still, Brienne?” He chided her._

_She nodded. “Is there any other way?”_

_To her surprise, he took her hand. Even more, he brought it to his lips. It was brief kiss yet her glove may as well be gone. She felt the press of his mouth there in the weeks to come. “S-Ser?”_

_“Just to show you another way,” he said, straightening up. His eyes scanned every freckle on her face. “Goodbye, Brienne.”_

_Just before she took the turn that would lead her out of the cellar, he called her back again. The Jaime she saw looked lost and. . .lonely._

_“I see her for what she is,” he said. “But I’ve loved her my whole life. Nothing will take me from her side.” She thought he sounded apologetic._

_She wondered if she should say it. But as he had kissed her, she judged it earned her the right to be brazen once again. “Just as long as she loves you.” She knew her place. The secret longing of her heart must be defeated by her battle cry. She was not for love but for war._

_“We were born together. There is no other way. She is all I’ve known before I even knew anything.”_

*****  


 

“What is it, then?” Jaime demanded. “Chains or noose? Sword or fire?” At the last word, he smirked at Daenerys.

“I’ve seen men like you claim to be not afraid of death yet weep for their mothers when it comes.”

“No more,” Jon told them both. Brienne noticed a strange look pass between him and the dragon queen. Both of them were still clearly upset with her outburst but they looked ill when she had raged about Rhaegar Targaryen.

“Jaime Lannister,” he continued. “Everyone except for the Lady Brienne and possibly your brother wishes to see you dead. But your death will never be enough to pay for blood. And maybe I should thank you and your House for the violence brought upon all of us. Death protects our loved ones from the cruel winter and the Night King. And also those whom I believe deserve to live, just to know the uncertainty and fear of these times. To be alive now is the worst punishment. But this is what we’ve been dealt. There is no one to rescue us but ourselves. As hated as your family is, the more living bodies are at our side, the better our chances of defeating the Night King.”

It should give her relief but Brienne knew too well that a breath was just that, a breath. And then the killing blow will follow. Everyone in the hall listened silently at Jon’s next words.

“Bran says you left Cersei because she betrayed us. We would like to believe your intentions and your vows true. Having brought your army here, willingly giving us your sword would be enough for most as proof of loyalty. But this is the north, Ser Jaime.”

“You trust me to be loyal to you? Me, a man without honor? Who crippled your brother?”

“I bent the knee to Queen Daenerys because we need each other. We need your army, but you will have to bend the knee. To me.”

Brienne was alarmed. Jon was making a mistake. Jaime was proud and would never bend the knee to anyone. For anyone.

“If you don’t serve under my command, you can take your army wherever you wish. But you don’t have my guarantee that Queen Daenerys’ dragons will not roast you alive.”

“You want me to bend the knee?” Jaime echoed.

“In the beginning. We need more men but not turncoats.”

“Don’t,” Brienne whispered to Jaime.

“I have no choice.”

And then, there in the middle of the Great Hall of Winterfell, the golden lion of House Lannister got down on one knee.

“I, Jaime Lannister of House Lannister, swear loyalty to King Jon Snow and House Stark of Winterfell.” He said.

“Accepted, but not enough.” Jon said. He stood up.

“You may no longer be with your sister it still doubtful how free you are from her. So, Ser Jaime, now that you’ve bent the knee to me, there is another vow I wish from you. I remind you again that you are free to take it or leave and you and your men will be unharmed by the armies of the north. I can not guarantee the same for the dragons of Queen Daenerys.”

“What more does His Grace want of me?”

“Your hand in marriage,” Jon answered. “To Lady Brienne.”

Brienne’s jaw hit the stone floor in shock while Sansa protested, _“Jon, no---”_

“You will marry Lady Brienne, Ser Jaime. The moment I find out that your mind strays south of Winterfell, Queen Daenerys’ dragons will annihilate your army.” Jon said with finality. “Just in case you forget, the north will always remember.”

“This is unacceptable—” Brienne started to say but was silenced by Jaime suddenly grabbing her hand. She glanced at it, reminded of how he had stopped her from putting a knife through Roose Bolton a long time ago. She tried shaking her hand away from his grasp but held her firmly, yanking her so hard she nearly toppled down right next to him.

Suddenly feeling too warm under her furs and armor, she couldn’t see straight. She saw a flash of auburn and worried blue eyes, the strip of silver light. As faces blurred around her, the only thing she was sure of was the weight of Jaime’s hand around her. Could he feel her tremble? He must because he tried to reach for her other hand then suddenly stopped, remembering.

“Say no. Lady Sansa and I will find a way to persuade him from thoughts of murder,” she pleaded in a whisper. She had never been so worried, angry and terrified until this moment. _“Jaime, please.”_

“It is done.” He said, looking up at her. His emerald eyes were cool and inscrutable.

_“No.”_

“I am sorry my coming here has brought this upon you.”

As he spoke, he suddenly kissed her hand. Clarity snapped back to Brienne and she once again saw faces. The Starks at the High table with King Jon, Daenerys and Tyrion. Tormund. Yohn Royce. The Mormonts. Karstarks. Manderlys. Everyone in the hall looked stunned at the Kingslayer’s unexpected gesture.

“I am yours, my lady Brienne,” he told her firmly. “I will shield your back and give my life for yours, if it comes to that. I will never ask you anything that would bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was torn between Jaime being forced to marry Brienne because she will be handed off to someone else OR Jaime marrying Brienne as part of the deal as a gesture of loyalty. You can see where I went. I honestly don't know how I'll go about the next chapter although I have ideas. Again, I'm so completely out of my comfort zone in trying to fuse canon and non-canon elements.
> 
> The scene at the cellars of the Red Keep is my invention and is based on a fake spoiler of Jaime and Brienne supposedly meeting there during Season 7. I'd like to think that after the Dragonpit, Jaime called for Brienne and they talk briefly. But that's my shipper heart talking. Let's be realistic, the show is unlikely to write of JB's relationship turning into a romance. What we have is a seasons-long tease and, sadly, I believe that's all we're going to get. But maybe not in the books!
> 
>  
> 
> Jaime's vow is a combination of the vows Brienne, Catelyn and Sansa make to each other. 
> 
> Maege Mormont's death is an invention of mine. Robb Stark and Grey Wind get beheaded, Catelyn is nearly decapitated. The Freys and Boltons would no doubt desecrate other bodies.
> 
> Selwyn's death is also my invention.


	4. Last of the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations and vows.

 

War rushed moments that in an ordinary life would take time. Jon’s words whooshed past Brienne, her ears only picking up sections. At sundown. No Lannister soldier within Winterfell. An emissary to be sent to the lion encampment announcing their lord’s wedding and the conditions pertaining to it. By the time he finished speaking, she could no longer feel the ground beneath her boots. The sounds of the people dispersing the Great Hall were dull and muffled, as if she were far away rather than in the middle of it all.

The sharp scrape of the chair across the floor snatched her right back. Sansa was whispering urgently to Jon and Brienne would have hurried to her side if not for the three men garbed in Stark armor that quickly surrounded Jaime.

“No!” She shouted, quickly shoving one of the soldiers away, drawing her sword and aiming it right at the throats of the other two. Jaime barely managed to leap out of the way at the swing of her sword at the men. Dear gods, what had she not heard?

One of the soldiers took pity on her pale face and the genuine fear in her eyes. “King’s orders, Lady Brienne. We are to secure Ser Jaime until the wedding.”

“It will be alright,” Jaime told her because she kept her sword poised and ready for a fight. “Brienne,” he was hesitant to touch her because she was still tensed and panicked. But his hand found her shoulder, firm and squeezing. “They mean me no harm.”

“I swear it on my honor, Lady Brienne.”

It was Jon. He and the Starks were still at the High Table, along with Tyrion. Tormund, Royce and the others were gone.

“Honor?” Jaime mocked. “You call it honor forcing a woman to me?”

“You’re on a short leash, Kingslayer,” Jon warned him. “You’re only alive because of your impending marriage.”

“Ah. Yes. Marriage.” Jaime glanced at Brienne before addressing Jon again. “Because marriage vows are so sacred. Words are wind, in case you don’t know. I will do all within my power to ensure lives are spared.”

“You don’t believe that’s what I am doing?”

“You’re decent at the sword, I heard. You led the north against the Boltons. But leading is not the same as fighting.” Jon did not answer but Brienne saw a smirk on Sansa’s face. Jaime turned and nodded at the men but suddenly stopped them again.

“I would like a few words with my bride. If that is allowed, Your Grace, being that I’m on a short leash and all.”

Tyrion glared at his brother. Jaime took Brienne by the arm and led her towards behind a wall without waiting for the king to agree. As soon as they were hidden from everyone’s sight, he nearly gave her a heart attack by enveloping her in a fierce, bone-crushing embrace.

“S-Ser Jaime?” She mumbled against his hair and his hold tightened. Her armor was beginning to hurt her but she made no move to push him away. Instead, her hands skimmed the sides of his waist before wrapping around him. She felt something like a kiss pressed on her neck.

“Do you forgive me?” He asked. Then he set himself away, his gloved hands on her cheeks. His false metal hand was as cold as ice under the leather while his flesh hand was warm. Yet she didn’t flinch from the contrasting sensations, looking at him instead with curiosity and confusion at his question.

“You looked so disappointed in me at the Dragonpit,” he explained, drawing her head down a little to rest against his forehead. She blushed as his warm breath caressed her face. He smelled of snow and woodsmoke, of metal and leather. Why was he touching her? Why was he apologizing?

“I can never be a better man, Brienne. You know that,” he said, still keeping her face pressed against him. “I don’t have the right to ask but will, anyway. Do you forgive me for what my presence has brought to you?”

“You shouldn’t have said yes.” She said, beginning to move away. She felt him stiffen as she began to distance herself from him. “I—I asked you.”

“He threatened my men, Brienne.”

“The Starks would have tried to find a way. Would have spoken to him to talk to—to the queen.” Brienne said, looking away from his inquiring gaze. Flushing, she stammered. “S-Ser, it’s not that I am displeased to have you. If it can be called that. Any woman would count herself lucky.”

“You are not just any woman.”

No, she wasn’t. She was hardly treated as one at all.

“If there was more time, I would consider trying to find a way out, Brienne. But if your king feels this is the way to get my loyalty and my men, then so be it.”

Though his words were of finality, there was something reckless about the way he was speaking too. He just made a vow to her. Not just in front of the king but before the old gods and the new. How could he be oddly. . .cavalier?

“And when the war is over?” She hated to ask but she had to. She was a soldier first, sworn to protect and fight for the Starks. Nothing more, until Jaime arrived. Forced didn’t begin to describe how she felt right now. Fighting the dead was far more preferable than what was needed for her. At least she knew how to hold and use a sword. She knew the battlefield. The bedchamber with a husband, the Kingslayer, it was something she had never been prepared for. Her septa made sure of that.

“If one of us is fortunate enough to see its end, then we live,” he answered.

“So, you don’t believe we will both make it?’

Jaime’s expression was grave. “I’ll make sure one of us does.”

Brienne wanted to kick him. “And if we both do? What then, Ser?”

“Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?” He shot back.

“I know what I look like,” she declared, sticking out her chin. “I know what I am, Ser. All my life I’ve been sneered at for what I lack but I won’t be made a fool. Vows are sacred to me. I know where your heart truly lies and I can never demand the same loyalty you have for her—”

 _“Seven bloody hells,”_ Jaime cursed violently. “You don’t honestly believe I’ll betray you?”

“Words are wind, you said. Marriage vows can only be so sacred.”

“I said it to him, not to you.” He snapped.

“You still said it. To him and everyone who heard.”

Her words hit him like the splash of cold water. Realizing what his glibness may have brought on them, to her, he turned away and seemed about to head for the soldiers waiting for him, and no doubt listening to their argument. She was unperturbed as he slammed his metal hand on the wall.

“I am not,” he hissed, “going to betray you. You have my word.”

Brienne shook her head. “Look me in the eye if you believe that.”

Jaime grunted under his breath and turned, his emerald eyes bright with anger and hurt. She remained stone-faced, refusing to blink as their eyes clashed and dared each other to look away. She would be married there were still vows outside of them to be fulfilled. He made a vow to her and she expected him to see it through. If he had no intention of doing it, she would rather know now than break what little remained of her heart.

“Get used to me looking in your eyes and the rest of you beginning tonight, Brienne.”

Then he turned on his heel and rather than being led away, stormed out of the Great Hall with Stark men following him.

When Brienne emerged from behind the wall, the Starks were no longer at the High Table. A young soldier, clearly waiting for her, said that Lady Sansa expected her to follow in her chambers.

She could hear the raised voices of Sansa, Jon and Arya even from the end of the hall. The guards hardly gave her a glance as she walked past them. Podrick was standing outside of Sansa’s chambers, looking at his feet and with his ears bright red from what he was hearing. Hearing her approach, he looked up.

“Lady Brienne,” he acknowledged her, reaching behind him to open the door but she stopped him.

“Perhaps now is not the time,” Brienne said, startled to hear Bran raise his voice.

“My orders, my lady,” Pod sounded apologetic. He knocked once then opened the door.

Brienne ducked her head, feeling like she was about to walk in a fray and was vastly ill-equipped. Four pairs of eyes stared at her as she stood awkwardly at the door, her cheeks reddening but not from the sharp bite of the frosty air. She felt like she had interrupted wolves in the middle of a meal.

“What did the Kingslayer tell you?” Jon demanded.

“Don’t answer that,” Sansa ordered. “She’s not sworn to you.”

Jon looked displeased not just at what she said but at her sharp tone. Sansa did not look like she as going to back down.

“You told me to trust each other. You promised me you will listen,” Sansa told him. “You had no right to force Brienne into a marriage with the Kingslayer. What were you thinking?”

“Keeping us alive. You don’t seriously believe the word of Jaime Lannister?”

“I trust Bran.” Sansa’s tone was reproachful. “Father always said that in the winter the wolves have only each other. Yet you act as if we are your subjects. You speak with the dragon queen more than with any of us.”

Jon looked at Brienne then to her and the other Starks. “You don’t know what I’ve been put through, what I saw to bend the knee to her.”

“We don’t know because you said nothing. I sent you ravens about Arya’s return. And Bran’s. You did not respond.”

“She kept me prisoner.”

“And you bent the knee to her! And now she’s here! Where were you when the maesters and septas told us about her father burned our grandfather and our uncle alive? Did you forget what Rhaeger did to our aunt—”

“Rhaegar did not rape Lyanna!” Jon thundered.

“Because the queen told you!” Sansa yelled.

“Because Bran saw!” Jon sat down heavily on a chair while his siblings watched him in stunned silence. Brienne stared at Bran, who was looking at his brother sympathetically.

“What’s he talking about?” Arya looked from one brother to the next. She walked around to stand in front of Bran. “What’s he saying? What does he mean that you saw?”

“Samwell Tarly told me,” Bran answered. “In the Citadel. He saw from the journal of a dead maester. Rhaegar had his marriage to Elia annulled to marry our aunt.”

“What does that have to do with everything?’ Sansa demanded. She went to Jon and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Now is not the time to brood. You’ve been behaving like. . .you’ve been living up to the person you’re not since you returned. With her.”

Jon glanced at Bran, who nodded at him.

“Lyanna bore Rhaegar a son. At the Tower of Joy.”

_“No.”_

“Ever since I found out I’ve been in hell. I--I lay with the queen. I didn’t know until I returned and Bran told me. Now she carries my bastard and we all know how children of incest turn out---”

The sound of a palm cracking across flesh resounded in the room. Arya started towards her brother and sister but Brienne pulled her back. Her eyes were wide. Jon was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark?

“You haven’t been answering my ravens because you’ve been sleeping with the queen? I’ve had to face a near mutiny, trying to hold the north together, men who refuse to follow a bastard but who won’t fall behind a girl who has the true name of their dead lord. Do you know what we had to do in the Great Hall?” Sansa was trembling so hard from her anger Brienne swore she could hear her bones rattling. _“Do you?”_

Jon’s cheek was red from her slap. He stood up and Sansa gasped. It was then that Brienne drew her sword put her lady behind her. Jon froze.

“He will not hurt her,” Bran said Brienne but she ignored him.

“I heard rumors.” Jon said, rubbing his cheek. “I wondered why Littlefinger is not lurking around yet Yohn Royce and his men remain here. Don’t accuse me of keeping secrets when you’ve been doing exactly the same. Lady Brienne, stay your blade.”

“You have no right to order me,” Brienne reminded him.

“Sansa didn’t keep it a secret. She sent ravens.” Arya sneered. “A prisoner you say, you are. A prisoner of her cunt, more like.”

“Is that why you brought her here? When the undead are gone, what of us?” Sansa demanded.

“I’m your brother. All my life I knew myself as your brother and wanted nothing else but to be a Stark. There is no pleasure finding out things about me, Sansa. None. And I fell for the queen—I did not ask for it!”

“Is that why you’ve yet to tell her?” Bran suddenly asked.

“What do you think she’ll do when she finds out I have more right to the blasted throne than she does? What do you think she’ll do to you when she finds out what you know? What you all know?” Jon’s eyes slanted toward Brienne. “Sansa, tell your soldier to put her sword down.”

“Should she?” Arya demanded. “Now that you’re king of the seven kingdoms, what will stop you from punishing my sister for striking you? For Briennne threatening you?”

 _“I want nothing of it!”_ Jon roared. “Why do you believe me to be a monster so quickly?”

“Because you tell us nothing. You would rather dictate, break promises, force women into marriages. You of all people should know better than that, Jon. Do you think I told you everything that Ramsay did to me?” Sansa said. As Jon flinched, she said sarcastically, “Of course, I did not. I only told you what I can bear. You know nothing of what he did to me when I closed my eyes and wished for death. The less it is known, the easier for me to believe it a nightmare instead of truth.”

“You told me to trust Jaime Lannister. That he has treated Brienne well. And never treated you with disrespect.”

“Ramsay was practically a knight from the songs I was obsessed with until the wedding night.” Sansa snapped. “I was seeing the cracks early on but I wanted to get the north back. I was still the stupid girl who believed Littlefinger. I had to be raped to realize he never cared for me. That my body was simply another body in this war.” 

Brienne’s eyes glimmered as she pressed the tip of Oathkeeper at Jon’s throat until a drop of blood appeared. He gasped.

“Killing me now will not solve matters.”

“I agree.” But Sansa glanced at Bran and Arya before nodding at Brienne. Reluctantly, she sheathed Oathkeeper but continued to glower at Jon. She refused to budge from her spot, enjoying his discomfort.

“If you had only told us.” Sansa said, shaking her head at Jon. “Brienne is an innocent in all this. She has done nothing but fulfill the promise she made to our mother. To me. And you give her thanks by flinging her right in the lion’s den. You would make the father you know so proud.”

“I don’t like what I did. But it had to be done. Better her than you. This is how she serves you.” Jon said.

“You don’t get to decide how she serves me or _my_ brother or _my_ sister.” Sansa said sharply.

Her emphases were not lost on Jon. “I am not going against Daenerys even if that’s what you want. We need her dragons and her Unsullied and Dothraki warriors. She also carries my child. But she believes the Seven Kingdoms are hers to take. I need as much power as I can manage so she will at least leave Winterfell alone when this is all over. I don’t wish to be king of the Seven Kingdoms. Or of Winterfell.”

“But when she marries you, you will be king. What queen will not turn down Winterfell?” Arya pointed out.

“Because I will ask.”

“If you can just ask why must Brienne marry Jaime Lannister?”

Jon looked at her. “I have to face the possibility asking her is not enough. That’s why I need an army to challenge her should she refuse.”

“You mean another war,” Bran breathed. “When the undead are gone, the living will not stop the bloodshed.”

More blood. More children lost. More wars. More monsters. Just thinking about them was enough to make Brienne wish for her own death. To kill them all now would be to save them from a worse fate. She would start with Jon because he was the closest. Arya she would take next. Her speed almost matched hers. Sansa she will have to stab by the throat. And then Bran. Then she would take the sword to herself because she couldn’t. She was built for war but the idea of another one. . .and another. . .further thought would drive her mad.

She never understood Jaime’s plight under Aerys until now. He took no pleasure in murdering the Mad King, justified as he was. But he would not be able to live with himself in choosing vows over life. Half a million lives. _Words are wind._

To end them all right in this very chamber would be the very fulfilment of the vows she made. She would be branded a murderer, but the Starks were safe from suffering and fear. Death was the ultimate protection.

She could see herself doing it. First stabbing Jon through the neck to silence him right away. He would fall to the floor, eyes wide open and choking on his blood. Arya would react first, unsheathing Needle and sinking its tip at her side until stopped by the swift, clean cut of Oathkeeper, separating her head from the rest of her. As blood dripped from the sword forged from Ice, the very sword Jaime told her to protect Sansa with, she would stab her lady in the gut. One, two, three. As she lay on the floor holding on her intestines, she would plunge the sword deep in Bran Stark’s heart.

As the images played in her mind, she saw Bran regard her out of the corner of her eye. She turned away from the imagined carnage, flushing but not going to deny the direction of her thoughts. She did not know what power he had. He could see the past, he said. He saw things as they were happening right this very moment. But could he see her thoughts? Could he read her?

As Sansa, Arya and Jon continued their loud exchange, the youngest of the Starks watched her. His hands remained folded on his lap. His expression placid though his gaze never left her face.

“You have been fighting since leaving Winterfell yet you court war as if it was water,” Sansa accused Jon. “You brought the dragon queen here, swore to her without even sending me word. Loyalties are like wind vanes, Jon.”

“I still believe in the good in men despite all I’ve seen and done,” Jon insisted.

“And look what it did to our father.”

“He’s my father too. Though another sired me, Ned Stark is the father I know.”

“My father would never force another woman to wed someone of such ill repute. And the things he did with his sister. Wringing three children from her. You might as well have thrown Brienne to a pigsty. It’s the same thing. At least she won’t lay with scum.”

Brienne didn’t like where the direction of Sansa’s tirade was going but she wouldn’t speak of it. Not here. Jon, quickly catching on to her change, scoffed, “So, now Jaime Lannsiter is scum? What happened to him being good and treating Brienne decently?”

“That doesn’t mean I want her married to him!”

“Would you rather I give you to him? Or Arya?”

“Why not your dragon queen?” Arya demanded. “Time for him to know how it is to raise another man’s child.”

“This is not time for jests, Arya,” Jon scolded.

“Nor is this the time to be an entitled shit.”

“What would you have me do? All of you?” Jon glared at them. “You want me to summon all the lords, tell them I changed my mind? Look, I am sorry, Lady Brienne,” he said, startling her and everyone else. “You have the impression that I made the decision with little thought. Perhaps I did. But even if I had sought the counsel of my family, I still won’t sacrifice my sisters for an army. You are their protector. This is how you can protect them. I don’t have the right to dictate the terms of your service but at this time, it is urgency that takes precedence over wisdom and whatever voice can be heard from the godswood. The Night King’s army grows by the hour. We need Jaime Lannister’s men, not their ashes.”

“Permission to speak freely, Your Grace?” Brienne asked after a moment.

“Of course.”

“I know my place. I know who I am. But you should also know that I don’t regard you as King. I respect you as one because of the Starks. You may believe that giving me to the Kingslayer is a benefit but I should remind you that you are not a Stark. I am not sworn to you. I will fight when they are in danger but you are not going to order me as you would your men. I want that to be clear.”

“Do you know how treasonous you sound?”

“You are not the king of the North yet you still rule as one despite knowledge of your true lineage.”

“This is not the time for politics.”

“Marrying me to Ser Jaime is not?”

Shamed by her simple statement, Jon sighed and turned to the others. “If you will excuse me.”

“Leave,” Sansa told them. “Jon,” she called out to him as he reached the door.

“Yes?”

“Who else knows about you? About your bastard?”

Jon’s nostrils flared. “She doesn’t know about me. Of the child, it is between us now.”

“We will have the wedding tonight,” she told him. “But tomorrow, I want what’s mine, Arya’s and Bran’s.”

“Sansa—”

“You will still command the armies. But the north should know under whose House they really fight for. And it’s not yours.”

The door closed behind them and Brienne turned to Sansa, who sat down on a chair by the fire.

“Shall I take my leave, my lady?” She asked.

“No. Stay here.” Sansa said, looking at the fire. Against the flames, her auburn hair seemed like fire and blood, and her blue eyes rimmed gold. “The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

“Lady Sansa?”

“Father used to say that a lot.” Sansa explained, looking away from the fire. “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths.”

She rose and went to her desk, which was crowded with parchment and had a small pile of books. Flipping open one, she continued, “After father was executed, I would cry day and night. When Joffrey started torturing me, there was no time to think of him. Or of my family. Winterfell. I prayed to die. It was only when Littlefinger took me away that I began thinking of home again. Do you. . .do you still think of Tarth, Lady Brienne?”

“I have to try not to,” Brienne admitted. Evenfall razed to the ground. The women raped then murdered. Tarth was lost.

“I should have been braver and returned to King’s Landing at that bitch’s summons,” Sansa muttered. “I would have warned Jon from trusting her. Cersei would put her child between herself and death should and when it comes for her. And now that she has no children, no brother, she has the whole continent as a shield.”

“You are braver than you think. You survived Joffrey. The Boltons. Littlefinger. Without any help. You should not forget that.”

“Back then I only had myself to think about. There was no one. Returning here showed me I can’t do anything just for myself. Perhaps I was brave. Perhaps. But I knew Cersei. If I had been there I would have told Jon to take her head. Then we won’t be where we are.” She looked at Brienne. “Your father would be alive.”

The Evenstar had adopted an isolationist stance following Renly’s death, although the men he had sent to serve in his army were eventually absorbed by Stannis’ forces. The summons sent by Cersei when she became queen had been ignored. It was an insult she never forgot, and had probably intended to make him pay since then. Would Sansa have been able to convince Jon to listen to her if she had been at the Dragonpit? Judging from his behavior, Brienne doubted it.

It was her presence at the Dragonpit, getting caught looking at Jaime Lannister, that put the final nail in Cersei’s revenge.

“The only person to blame for his death is Cersei.” Brienne told her.

“Jon ensured all our deaths by having you marry Jaime.”

Brienne had no doubt. If a shared look between her and Jaime was enough for Cersei to annihilate a people, what more when met with proof of her lover’s betrayal? _With her?_

She never thought she would be thankful for her father’s death, long and painful as it was, but now she was.

“He’s right,  MyLady. His ways are questionable but we need as much men as we want. Having Jaime married to me and sworn to Jon keeps him alive too. Daenerys will not hesitate to burn him alive.” Brienne hesitated before adding, “Better me than you.”

“It’s still not right.”

“War is not for doing what’s right. But for what must be done.” Brienne sniffed. “It is the only thing as sure as the tide. My father used to remind me of our house words every day.”

“As sure as the tide,” Sansa repeated.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “My apologies, Lady Sansa,” she said, tears beginning to fall. To her surprise, Sansa put her arms around her. It was awkward because though she was tall, there was Brienne’s massive height, bulk and armor. Yet her embrace was as warm and comforting as a mother’s would be.

“Tears can be strength, Lady Brienne,” Sansa assured her, giving her a final hug before stepping away. “It not a weakness to remember who we loved.”

Brienne could only nod. This was the first time she let herself cry and no amount of discipline or swiping her hand across her eyes stopped them for falling. Sansa hugged her again.

“We have a wedding to get ready for,” she said with forced cheer. “What do you say to a bath, Lady Brienne?”

 

*****  
  
All Brienne expected was for the tub be brought to her chambers, not for Lady Sansa to bathe her. Yet she appeared at the door holding a small collection of fragrant oils. As disapproving as she was about the wedding, she was determined for her knight to experience some good.

Podrick helped Brienne out of her armor as servants poured steaming water in the tub. With the small flames from the fireplace and the steam rising from the bath, the room was soon as warm as summer. She ignored the curious and amused looks of servants as her armor was unbuckled, ignoring the giggles they finally allowed themselves once outside. Podrick packed away her armor, with orders from Sansa to procure fresh sheets for the bed. Brienne listened to them as she stood behind a screen, unlacing her shirt and breeches.

She was getting married in a few hours. Tonight was going to be her wedding night.

What she would give to be at a melee. Or a war. She would take a bloody war rather than what awaited her at the bedchamber. She had no cause to think Jaime cruel but it was the factors that led to their union that didn’t sit right with her. She was ugly and mannish, sullen and awkward. It didn’t mean she should simply be grateful that the king was forcing her hand in marriage. When she realized as a child that she would be no prized bride, she resolved to find a way to assert her worth. That was through sword and shield. She was not a brood mare. She was not a pawn. She was a soldier.

Despite her armor, honors and skill. Despite cutting off the head of Stannis Baratheon, besting the Hound, she was still a woman. Only a woman.

Brienne wrapped herself in a towel before going to the bath. Sansa was already there, pouring oil and coaxing bubbles in the water. As she approached, she noticed a strange object on her bed. A dress.

“It is my longest gown,” Sansa explained. “I have begun with some alterations but we won’t know until you put it on.”

A gown. It wasn’t as awful as the pink number the Bolton men forced on her but it was far from a marked improvement. A dark purple brocade, with long sleeves. Sansa misinterpreted Brienne’s distress for disappointment. Another reminder that despite everything, she was still _only a woman._

“I know brides wear white but mine is. . .I had it burned. It should never be worn again. I’m sorry there is no time for me to fashion you a gown that is your own, Lady Brienne.”

“No,” Brienne shook her head. “My lady, this is more than generous. I just. . .I’m just worried about the fit, that’s all.”

“You have yet to see my skill with needle and threat. It’s quite the spectacle, modesty aside.” Sansa sat on a stool and bade her to come forward. “Come, before it gets cold.”

She helped unwrap the towel from Brienne. The warrior woman stepped slowly into the bath, hissing in surprise at the sudden warmth. There was still room for something wonderful in war, she thought, submerging herself up to her shoulders. She inhaled and noted that the water smelled of leaves and flowers.

“I haven’t asked you how you feel about having to wed Ser Jaime,” Sansa said as she guided the sponge across her broad shoulders.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, soaping her arms. As she did, she remembered his mocking call for her not rub too hard back in Harrenhal. Thank goodness she was turned away from her lady, that the warm water could be a reason for the sudden flare in her cheeks. “I never thought I would get married. Least of all to him.”

“Cersei must have been driven to such anger to nearly have him killed by The Mountain,” Sansa remarked, urging her with a gentle push to scoot a little forward. She obeyed, resting her chin on her knees as the sponge traveled lower on her back.

“Maybe Jaime was equally angry too for her betrayal.”

Her heart had been broken for a long time. Seeing him and Cersei together brought fresh pain. Then when he dismissed her plea to talk to the queen—she was convinced she had deluded herself into believing his honor. Until Cersei returned and pledged her armies. Then when Jaime summoned her to the cellars beneath the Red Keep. _When he kissed my hand. When he apologized._

She ruined it all by flinging proof of his dishonor to his face. Maybe she shouldn’t have. Their marriage was going to be a sham but it didn’t give him the right to insult her by fucking his sister should they survive the war. His sister who murdered their child, their kin. _Her father._ War and men had chipped away a good amount of her naivete but if Jaime hurt her like that, it was going to be a very dark world.

“Do you trust him? Can he be trusted?” Sansa asked as she took care pouring water on Brienne’s hair. She closed her eyes lest soap get in them. “Brienne, tell me the truth now. I will not have you hurt and dishonored so cruelly within the walls of Winterfell.”

Brienne opened her eyes and turned to Sansa.

“I swear, My Lady.”

 

******

In the end, Sansa finished making the necessary alterations to the deep purple brocade dress. Though Brienne’s chest was flat instead of curved, it was much wider so Sansa scrounged up some plain purple fabric to add more to the material. There was no way to make the sleeves fit her so they were removed. Black feathers were added to the hem of the skirt and they skimmed across the snowy ground as Brienne walked on it now, alone, except for Oathkeeper at her hip. She knew it scandalized her lady but didn’t fight her on it.

Her heavy leather and fur-trimmed cloak covered her, protecting her from the cold. She looked ahead but refused to meet Jaime’s eyes, who was waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Northern nobles flanked the aisles, with the Starks, Jon Snow and Daenerys in front. Tyrion, perhaps not surprisingly, sat on Jaime’s side.

The sun was beginning to set. Every day, its light grew weaker and the sky more gray. The sun was a flickering flame in the rising winds of winter intent on snuffing it out. It was just as well that her wedding was on the last day of the sun. Love was for spring and sunshine, pinks, greens and blues.

She must have been walking way too slowly for Jaime suddenly stepped forward and met her as she was halfway down the aisle. It was a move that wasn’t received too well, with everyone shaking their heads and glaring at him. Whispers of “Kingslayer,” echoed through the godswood, resonating like the voice of the dead. She wondered if the Night King was watching somewhere, or close by. Seeing her distracted, Jaime tugged at her hand a little too sharply and she would have skidded almost comically if not for her quick reflexes. Grinning at her scowl, he brought her down to the end of the aisle, to stand before a septon. For the first time, she remembered her own hands were bare and looking down, saw that his was ungloved too. He gave her hand a brief squeeze as the septon began to speak.

Nothing about the ceremony felt real. She may be in a half-dream, that stage in sleep where she straddled dreams and wakefulness. Her fingers felt like icicles as a ribbon was tied around their hands, to symbolize their unity. Twice she fumbled with her vows, drawing laughter from someone in the back. Jaime, powerless and forced as she was in this marriage, nevertheless silenced them with the look Aerys must have witnessed before running away, desperate to escape his sword.

The godswood was now silent except for their vows. Holding her hand, Jaime recited them with her, his voice blending with hers such that they seem to speak as one.

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am yours and you are mine. From this day, till the end of my days.”

At last, she dared to look at Jaime. Snow covered the hair on his head and dusted his beard too. Their joined hands were cold. He had apologized to her for what his coming to Winterfell did to her. But she should apologize too. Had he not looked at other women because of his sister? She threatened him with murder, but he had loved her. Maybe loved her still. Yet here he was now, saying the words they must have said to each other during secret trysts with her. _To her._

A maimed lion for the prized beauty from Tarth.

A deal made for the living to have more chances of surviving. A deal that would end them both.

_“Get used to me looking in your eyes and the rest of you beginning tonight, Brienne.”_

So, she looked at him with defiance, with what little bravery she had, and, much as she hated it, hope. Though the day was beginning to get dark, she could see herself clearly reflected in Jaime’s eyes.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Keep looking at me.”

“I am,” she growled.

“Good.”

It was a wedding. Their wedding. No matter the circumstances that brought them together, they were husband and wife and they were expected to bring the ceremony to the inevitable conclusion. Still, she gasped against Jaime’s lips as they brushed hers, first in a kiss as light as a feather. Their lips were dry and slightly chapped and the remedy, she learned quickly, was tongue. _Jaime’s tongue._ Scandalized, she tried wrenching herself away, but his arm wrapped firmly around her back, his metal hand kept her fused to his chest. He deepened the kiss and her mouth opened.

His kisses were soft but masterful, leading her in a type of dance. Swordplay, she realized. For every brush of his kiss against her, the careful thrust of his tongue, she parried with a hesitant, unschooled kiss of her own, and the shy, but almost sly tease of the tip of her tongue on him.

Night swept over the last light of the sun in Winterfell, yet Brienne was very warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "As sure as the tide," is my imagined house words of Tarth. I also take it from my modern AU, Alias-inspired spy fic, Westeros Central Agency. Selwyn Tarth says them in the latter fic before he's kidnapped.
> 
> Sansa lends Brienne the dress she wore when taking a stroll in the gardens with Loras Tyrell:  
> https://www.bustle.com/articles/85163-sansa-starks-fashion-evolution-through-game-of-thrones-and-how-her-wardrobe-mirrors-her-character. 
> 
> I know she didn't have time to pack during her escape from King's Landing. But she wears a similar gown to the purple wedding. The article says that when the Tyrells come, she begins to feel hope again. As displeased Sansa is with Jon did to Brienne, I'd like to think her choice in the gown was more deliberate than it being the longest she has. 
> 
> Her whiz at needlework is exaggerated in this fic. :-) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. The Maiden at Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne after the ceremony and THAT kiss.

The suddenness of the wedding between the Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth was no detriment to some semblance of a celebration. Winterfell was well-provisioned for the war and winter but there was still rationing particularly of meat, and bread. There was also wine, though it did not pour as freely as it should have. With an attack imminent of either the side of the living or the dead, drunk soldiers would give them the easiest victory in the history of Westeros.

Food and drink did not concern Brienne much. Having spent a good deal of her life in the barracks, she ate food whenever it was available, heedless of the strength of its spices or flavor, just as long as it was edible and will not make her sick. She nibbled on the sweetened bread, her dry mouth did not giving her much pleasure from this rare winter treat. Wine, she sipped sparingly, such that when some rowdy soldiers from House Karstark called for the bedding ceremony, her goblet was still half-full.

Her misery suddenly replaced by dread, she stared helplessly at the group of leering men coming at her and Jaime, eager to paw at her and sneak a grab, to see once and for all if she really had a cunt and not a cock. Jaime shot to his feet, the chair falling to the floor from the speed of his movement. It brought the soldiers to a halt, and one look at his murderous face was enough to have them elbowing at each other in their haste to return to their tables, or at least, for the night, escape the Kingslayer’s sight. Sansa, seated at the High Table, had been observing her knight and stood up too. It brought the music and revelry to a sudden stop.

“There will be no bedding ceremony. This will never be practiced within Winterfell and the rest of the Northern Kingdom.” Her stare was unrelenting as she dared the men in the room to challenge her. Jon made a big show of finishing his wine. “My word is final.”

She sat down and the music resumed a moment later. Relieved that she was spared from the humiliating ritual, Brienne finished her wine in a single, smooth gulp. Jaime was visibly impressed as she slammed her goblet down on the table, red from her forehead to what little of her throat was exposed in her dress, her lips wet and gleaming as if from a number of stolen kisses.

The bedding. Seven hells. While she knew she was not a complete idiot, the other important event following the ceremony had not crossed her mind at all. Oaths she might end up breaking, her duties divided, the fear of a betrayal—the one fight in which she had never been trained nor even know how to fight off—had distracted her from the _bedding._ Sword and an army of the undead. Another battle against The Hound. She would even seek that Tormund fellow and tell him to try killing her if only it would get her out of having to sleep with Jaime. Being with Jaime without any kind of armor.

What little food she had consumed turned into a sour, heavy mass in her stomach. As she contemplated how to excuse herself and possibly disappear for the night, Tyrion Lannister approached their table, along with that bald, robed man. Lord Varys.

“Brother,” Tyrion greeted them, for the first time looking uncertain. The dwarf had been nothing but astute, diplomatic and arrogant, of course. He seemed to hesitate before them, glancing at Varys who stood a polite distance away. To Brienne’s surprise, Jaime took her hand. After their strange kiss that did even stranger things to her, he had only touched her one other time, when they were presented before the nobility in Winterfell. Not a word, not even a single glance, had passed between them since.

“Lady Brienne,” he continued, managing a smile at her that appeared as a grimace on his pinched features. “My new sister. I’ll welcome you to the family but Lannisters have lost a lot of their esteem, if not all of them. Not a recent development, I’m afraid. Still,” he raised a glass to her. “A new family member is always welcome. Jaime, I guess congratulations are in order.”

“Yes,” Jaime answered shortly. “They certainly are.”

Brienne lowered her head to hide a blush while Tyrion frowned at him, before nodding, as if suddenly understanding something. It did not require great thought to know how Jaime felt. Forced to wed, to her, of all people. What joy was to be had from that?

“Queen Daenerys would be coming here shortly to extend her congratulations as well.”

“My wife and I look forward to it.”

Tyrion gave another bow, this time in Brienne’s direction. Varys bowed at them too then hurried after the younger Lannister. She glanced at Jaime, to tell him he could stop holding her hand now. Instead, he surprised her again by kissing her hand.

“Stop,” she said softly. “There is no need for the charade.”

“I don’t get what you mean, my lady wife.”

“I’m not a lady.”

“Will you say you’re not my wife too?”

Brienne tried snatching her hand away but Jaime tightened his hold on it. It would be painful on a smaller, delicate hand. Hers was big and firm from handling weapons.

“You already promised to never betray me,” she reminded him. “There’s no need for the act.”

“What fucking act?” Jaime demanded.

Just then, a beautiful, olive-skinned woman with delicate black curls approached their table. Brienne recognized her as Daenerys’ translator and one of her trusted advisors. She was flanked by Ser Jorah Mormont and a leather-clad Unsullied. Jaime lowered their hands but kept them joined.

“Ser Jaime, Lady Brienne,” the woman named Missandei said. “Congratulations on your wedding. I would like to present Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the first of her—”

Jaime grunted under his breath and stood up, easily taking Brienne with him. They were tall people and nearly had to bend in half to look at the short, platinum-haired daughter of the Mad King in the eye. For one moment, Brienne panicked that Daenerys might offer her hand for a kiss and Jaime, being Jaime, would either slap it away or raise an eyebrow at it. His irritation was as thick as the Wall itself, leaving her chilled.

Missandei, forgetting her usual spiel of the queen’s long list of titles, got all flustered and hurried through them. Brienne hoped to the Seven Jaime was not smirking or at least obviously rude. This was the one time he could use the diplomacy his younger brother had a well of.

Daenerys had a serene smile on her face as Missandei finished presenting her. Brienne scrambling for one of the many forgotten lessons her cruel septa had pressed on her, began to curtsy when she shook her head.

“There is no need to bow, Lady Brienne. In truth, it should be who does the bowing. Your fighting skills are quite legendary. Having you on our side makes me more hopeful of our chances of defeating the Night King.”

Brienne managed to keep a tight clamp on her jaw lest it crash to the floor. Jaime, more adept at hiding his emotions, stood quietly next to her. Daenerys turned to him.

It seemed the entire hall had fallen silent. There was still music, there were still people dancing. But everyone’s attention was on the daughter of the Mad King and the man who murdered him. Brienne’s hand wandered to Oathkeeper, drawing the eyes of Ser Jorah and the Unsullied there. Daenerys appeared to not notice because she was already addressing Jaime.

“Now we meet.” She said, her voice suddenly cool. “Quite the reception you’ve received considering all that you’ve done.”

“Which I’m sure you will remind me again, Your Grace,” Jaime replied.

“I’m sure your wife will,” she said, glancing at Brienne. “She certainly speaks her mind when she should.”

That didn’t sit right with Jaime, judging from how he was almost crushing her hand. Brienne gave him a warning squeeze and saw the slight wince on his face. “I expect Lady Brienne to speak not only when she should.”

“Good.” Daenerys’ purple eyes shone. “Perhaps there is hope with you yet. Men can always benefit from listening to women. Well,” and this time she spoke with relish, “not all. Whispers are not to be trusted. Congratulations again on the match.”

Her smile did not reach her eyes as she turned, taking her followers with her. Jaime and Brienne remained standing until he turned to her and bade for her to take her seat before doing the same.

Jaime seemed to center himself quickly after that not-too-subtle dig by the queen. He let go of Brienne’s hand as he helped himself to wine.

“She had no right to say that.” She said as he put the goblet back on the table.

“I have no wish to talk about the past tonight.” Realizing he had spoken quite sharply, he sighed and grunted. “I’m sorry, Brienne.”

“Do you want to get some air?”

“That might be best.” Jaime grinned when they stood up at the same time. She blushed, remembering that the man should be the first to do so, to assist the lady. But she was not a lady in the traditional sense, and was perfectly capable of making herself upright. She carried the sword between them, for crying out loud. Still, her hand was in his once again. The protest was at the tip of her tongue. They were not going anywhere where they would be seen by a lot or scrutinized as much.

Because there were more people dancing and the music was louder, it was easy to slip out of the Great Hall. They walked past the heavy double doors and into the carpet of snow and the canopy of stars.

Guards and soldiers milled about, Starks, Cerwyns and some Mormonts mixing with forces from the Eyrie, even the Wildlings. Everyone was in a celebratory mood, even out in the cold.

They stood in the middle of the courtyard, just watching men and women talking and flirting, children running about. Braziers were placed strategically in the area, their fires strong despite the thick, icy air that was quick to settle deep in Brienne’s lungs. The silk of Sansa’s dress was cool on the skin despite the protective layer of her fur-lined leather cloak. Jaime was clad in heavy leathers and furs. She wondered which soldier or advisor had to part with the fine clothes he now wore, and whether it was done willingly or grudgingly.

The snow was thick under their boots. Every day servants cleared the ground of it to avoid accidents, but their diligence was no match for the weather, especially at night. As a child she had only heard tales of the Long Night, of a winter that lasted for years. Tarth, surrounded by waters, was constantly battered by storms and waves that could reach as high as the mountains. But the sun was always warm, as was the air. What was cold like? How did snow feel? Little did she know that the answers will come to her in her lifetime, in a place that bore the brunt of winter’s lash.

She stared at the snow, making out the patterns made by different footsteps, horses’ hooves, wheels of transport. They criss-crossed, made circles, sketched strange, unknown shapes. Death and war were never far from each other, more so no, yet life continued. The fight to preserve life as much as could be managed endured despite the air of fatality pervading Winterfell.

“When I first came here, I couldn’t sleep,” she told Jaime. “The nights were so cold and being under three layers of furs didn’t help. To think Pod and I were at an inn. Firewood was hard to come by because the trees were always wet from the cold.”

“No better than being on the ground, then.”

“You slept on the ground?”

“On my way to Riverrun.” Jaime clarified. At her questioning look, he added, “I had to make haste in leaving King’s Landing. I didn’t have time to get a lot of gold.”

Remembering why he had to leave so suddenly brought other memories. _Was she looking out the window, wondering about him? Or were there mercenaries looking for him at her orders?_

“Don’t.’ Jaime told her.

She flushed. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” she mumbled.

“I’m here. In this godsforsaken hell. I mean to keep my vows to you. Why must you keep dredging up the past?”

“I’m not!”

His expression was hard. “You don’t have to say anything for me to know. I only have to look at you.” Tenderness laced his voice. “Your eyes show everything.”

When he spoke like that, it did things to her. Things she could not understand and maybe never will. It was just like earlier. _Get used to me looking in your eyes and the rest of you beginning tonight._ She knew what it meant. _What he meant._

She would probably rather face the Night King.

It wasn’t the union between man and woman that terrified her. It was her lack of any knowledge about it. She knew what it entailed. But how was she to kiss? Would there be more like that. . .that kiss from earlier? How was she supposed to touch Jaime? Could she touch him? What must she do? Remain still? But the whores at Renly’s camp were never still. They were vigorous.

And the things she had seen—she never knew a man could get so big, let alone that his entire length could be engulfed in a mouth.

She had no doubt Jaime and Cersei had done those things. That Cersei was an expert in taking Jaime in her mouth. She was not only scared because she did not know how to be during the bedding, but that Jaime would find her lacking, comparing her to his beautiful, golden life-long lover, longing for her. How could he not? _She is all I’ve known before I even knew anything._

Gods, she hated the position Jon Snow had put her in. He called it part of her service to the Starks. Better her than his sisters. She could understand. She really could. But it wasn’t her skills with the sword that she would be serving them. It was with her cunt. She never hated being a woman although felt sorry that she was all her dear father had. He had deserved so much better. But right now, she hated the body she was born in. Had she been a man, she won’t be Jaime Lannister’s bride.

“You think to know me, ser, from just looking in my eyes?” She demanded.

Jaime scoffed. “Ser?”

“My lord.”

 _“My lord?”_ He practically roared, drawing eyes on them. She scowled and he took a deep breath for calm. He then took her by the nape, guiding her down until the cool tips of their noses touched and his warm breath fanned her lips, her cheeks. It felt like a kiss.

“I am your husband. Hardly a prize given my penchant for oath-breaking and sister-fucking, Brienne. But I’m certainly not your fucking lord. I’m Jaime. _Your Jaime_.”

He took her surprise for doubt because in the next instant, he was kissing her. There was no teasing, sweet prelude this time. It was a hard, devouring fusion of his mouth to her shy, lips, bruising her as he coaxed her to open, his flesh and steel hand taking hold of her face none too gently as his tongue probed deeply. She was slow, very slow to respond, confused at first as to why he was kissing her when there was no one to see, then mortified when she started kissing him back. Her lips opened and closed inexpertly, drawing a groan that sounded like frustration from Jaime before he angled her head, instructing her with touch to remain like this. The ire that fueled his kiss ebbed, and there was that tenderness again, teaching her how to part her lips, when to close, encouraging her with the almost careful thrust of his tongue to do the same to him, almost pleadingly.

“Brienne,” he whispered, catching her lower lip between his even teeth to tug it. “I have no right to ask but will, anyway. Such is the man I am.” He licked her lip and a shuddery breath escaped her. “Stop doubting me.”

He set her away from him but not so much that he couldn’t hold her. His arms wrapped around her thick waist. “I have sworn and betrayed so many vows, Brienne. But those that I’ve made to you, I will see them through. A sword will cut through me first before it happens.”

“I’m—I’m scared,” she whispered.

And there it was. The very words she never thought to voice out. To anyone. To him. She expected disappointment, mockery, she waited for his cruel laugh.

He kissed her again. Like a knight in the songs she used to love until she started believing love was never for her.

“I am too,” he admitted. “Here. See for yourself.” He took her hand and pressed it on his heart. It was beating fast. A chorus to hers.

“It is no lie, Brienne.”

There was honor in Jaime, though he denied it. He gave her Oathkeeper to keep his promise to Catelyn Stark. He promised her safe passage in the battle lines at Riverrun. He raced back to Harrenhal and rescued her from a bear. Lost his hand so she would never be dishonored so brutally. She was the sole witness rather than a crowd. Hers the only voice to speak his name and honor in one sentence.

“We’re married because of forces beyond our control,” he continued, holding her hand to his heart. “Neither of us want to be where we are right now but we’ve always respected each other. Alright. We have come to respect each other,” he amended, catching her raise her eyebrow. His eyes sparkled. “Whether there is love between us. . .who knows? But I have no doubt of how important we are to each other. I hope I do matter to you, Brienne, even just a little. Can we not make the best of the situation?’

“H-How? What. . .how can there be anything of the best? We don’t know if we’ll see tomorrow. We don’t know if we will see the sun again.”

“I. . .I can’t disagree. But we are together. Shouldn’t that at least count? A light in the world that grows darker?” As she tried to decipher what he meant, he told her, “I meant what I said about honoring my vows to you, Brienne. I refuse for our marriage to be anything but a sham.”

She believed him. She really believed him. Yet a little voice nagged. Far in the north, he believed what he was telling her. But what if. . .what of—

“Don’t.” He was suddenly begging. “Don’t let her in, Brienne.”

She bit her swollen, chapped lips. “I’m trying so hard.”

He sighed. “That—that’s more than I can expect of you for now.”

In gratitude, she startled them both by suddenly kissing his hand. She blushed at his stunned face. “Er. . .I’m. . .thank you for understanding. Because it will take time.”

“You have it.”

She looked at him again, trying to gauge from his face, looking for a twitch, something, that would tell her what to do next. When nothing came, she realized that the next step was all on her.

She could do this.

She was doing this.

Grasping his hand tightly, she led him away from the courtyard. “Where are we going?” He asked, making no resistance.

Her cheeks were the color of apples as she stammered, “My—My chambers, Jaime.”

 

*****  
Though she had Oathkeeper, it was Jaime’s hand she held. Hand-holding should come naturally but she was terribly anxious. As they climbed up the concrete steps lit by torches, what little bravado she had in the courtyard began to fade. By the time they reached the top, and finding themselves regarded with suspicion by a Stark guard, she wondered if she had made a colossal mistake.

_But he said our marriage won’t be a sham. Maybe he only meant that he will never betray me. He didn’t say he will be touching me._

The guard’s face was openly mocking. There was little doubt that despite their marriage being at the command of Jon Snow, many people still regarded the union a joke. How could they not? She was a tall, lumbering beast, made even more so in a gown of silk and feathers, and her cloak of leather and fur. Jaime, achingly beautiful as she was ugly, one-handed.

Brienne never realized how much clothes could be so tied to a person until now. Oathkeeper’s presence was a comfort but in a dress rather than her usual armor and breeches, she felt out of sorts. Had she looked her usual self, the guard would attempt some discretion.

She didn’t know how clear her distress was until Jaime stepped forward and glowered at the younger man. The latter visibly blanched would have thrown himself over the stairs.

“We mean to pass,” Jaime said, conversation yet his order clear.

The guard mumbled something and stepped aside. With Jaime now leading the way, he pulled Brienne after him, her skirts swishing around her legs. “Where?” He asked her over his shoulder.

“The last one,” she answered.

A press of his steel hand on the door and it opened with a loud creak. Then she was swept inside, making her lose her breath for a moment. By the time she took one, she was pressed against the door and Jaime’s tongue was in her mouth.

Oh, gods. This was _the kiss._ Rough and devouring, astounding in hunger. Her mouth was quick to yield, her tongue sparring with Jaime’s with less inhibition now. She blushed for it was only today that she had been kissed for the first time and started practicing. There was still much to cover but she had always been a willing, passionate student.

Kissing, she was realizing, was not just the contact of lips and brushes of tongue. There was also touching. Aside from his lips falling on random parts of her face—her chin, her cheek, then back to her lips—Jaime’s hands were busy. She jumped as the metal one pressed on her breast, causing her nipple to peak in an instant. He apologized against her mouth and she shook her head, whispering it was alright as she leaned toward him. He kept both hands on her breasts know, the flesh one kneading the slight rise on her chest while the other just remained pressed. The sensation of being touched here was strange, at best. It was like a surprise attack move by the enemy, a killing blow, if you will. But Jaime was not her enemy.

And he was not going to hurt her.

She moaned and clasped his hands to her breasts. He growled. She hoped he approved.

He left her lips to start kissing her throat, teeth pulling at the silk aside that covered her neck. Sensing his frustration, she reluctantly released his hands and began working on the clasps and buckles of her cloak. He seemed to nod because he suddenly pulled himself off her. As her cloak fell with a heavy thump on the floor, he worked on the snaps of his own and it too fell at his feet. She unclasped her sword belt and carefully put it on the table.

The fireplace was bright from the wonderful fire crackling in it, and on her desk, the bedside tables, were fresh, stout candles. Candles were becoming rare and they were also being careful, so she was moved that Lady Sansa must have ordered them for her room.

Jaime held out his hand to her. “Come here. Let me help you with the dress.”

Brienne gulped and went to him, taking his hand. Another kiss on her palm then she was turning around. For a second, she wondered how he would manage with the intricate lacework with just one hand. But to ask him would probably hurt him, innocent as it was. She stood quietly, hoping he couldn’t hear her shaking in her boots as he slowly, carefully, loosened the laces. As he worked, she noted that his armor and sword had been moved to her chamber.

She knew the exact moment the last loop was undone. Jaime let out a breath, gusting against her nape. The dress now parted open at the back, he slipped it off her, leaving her in just a slip, hosiery and her heavy boots. She felt ridiculous in the whisper-soft linen, which was also loaned by Lady Sansa. But when Jaime’s arms closed around her waist from behind, when his lips brushed the surprisingly responsive line of her neck, she only remembered how it was to be kissed by him and wanted more.

Again his hands were on her breasts, kneading the soft flesh and causing her nipples to tighten, for a strange, feverish heat so spread through her bloodstream and pool in her cunt. Her legs felt surprisingly weak, as if boneless, and she could tell Jaime was struggling to keep her upright, thinking to rouse her again and again with kisses and more kisses. And—

She thought nothing of his hand leaving her breast to descend to her waist. She blushed, out of shyness and nervousness that he would find muscle rather than curve. His hand did skim her waist and then it was tugging at her shift, baring first her legs, then her thighs. Her nails dug in his leather sleeves upon realizing where his hand wished to be.

 _“Jaime,”_ she gasped as he cupped her cunt.

Her eyes were wide, nearly taking over half her face as his warm palm flattened against the part of her whose existence was mocked by men. If not, then something for the same men to play a most cruel sport. There was no cruelty in Jaime’s touch but it was undeniably possessive, palming the rough curls, fingers sweeping it open and then. . .

“Gods,” she hissed, her thighs tightening around his hand as he played with the stiff pearl between the lips of her cunt.

“Did I hurt you?” He panted against her ear.

“N-No.”

“Then let me touch you. I promise---only pleasure, Brienne. _I swear it.”_

As he spoke, he turned around, seized the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head. She squawked, her hands instantly covering her breasts before realizing her cunt was bare too. Her face was on fire as she stood before him, pathetically trying to preserve what modesty she still had while wearing nothing else but worn stockings and travel-worn boots.

“Brienne,” he was speaking gently. “Didn’t I tell you that you have to get used to me looking at you? All of you?”

She nodded, too shocked to speak.

“Let me see you, then.”

She shook her head. “Um, maybe I should get on the bed.”

Realizing that things were moving fast, he nodded. She threw herself on the mattress, the wooden frame shrieking from the sudden impact of her weight. As her legs flailed behind her, Jaime, a smile in his voice, asked, “Would you like help with your boots, wife?”

She blushed but shook her head. “Um, thank you but I’ll manage.” She grabbed the fur blanket and huddled under it. She didn’t see how he covered the chuckle about to burst from him with his hand as she grunted and cursed at the damnable boots and the clinging stockings. Free at last, she clutched the blanket around her and turned just as Jaime was pulling off his shirt.

The first and last time she had seen him bare was in the baths at Harrenhal. Though highly fevered and delirious from the pain, she had been unable to look away from him. A year of imprisonment had made his muscular form rangy but still packed with strength. Even with the bandage around the stump of where his hand used to be, there was no doubt of the fighter he was. The fighter he still was.

Since returning to King’s Landing and regular sword practice with his left hand, he had filled out. Muscles now packed where there used to jutting bones. His right arm was not in much use but was still corded with strength—his golden hand must be heavier than it looked. She held the blanket to her breasts as he tossed the shirt away and stood before her wearing his steel hand and his breeches. The firelight embraced him as if he was some fire god.

Jaime glanced down at himself then his hand before looking at her. “The man you married, Brienne.”

She nodded. “I know.”

He glanced at his hand again and sighed. “I need to remove this. My arm gets sore.”

“May I?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your hand,” she said, nodding at it. “You’ve been. . .undoing straps and laces. I can help, if you want. I—I hope you’ll let me.

She didn’t know why he was looking at her as if she had just revealed a secret perversion but after a moment of hesitation, he nodded. Holding the blanket awkward to her breasts, she moved to other side of the bed. She knotted it at the center of her chest.

She was gentle in taking his steel hand, cradling it in her own while her other hand gently worked through the straps. When the false hand fell on her palm, she was quick to catch it, putting it on the table. Next she removed the protective cloth that protected his skin from chafing. A scent of cloves touched her nose. Jaime sighed above her, the sound displeased and she quickly looked up, worried.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. It’s the smell of that fucking balm.”

Something to protect him from the long wear yet his stump was red. Unaware of the way he was looking at her, she took it in both hands, her fingers gently massaging the swelling away. Jaime hissed loudly.

“What?” She demanded.

“N-Nothing,” he grunted.

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you.” She said, gentling the presses and kneads of her fingertips. “My father would do this for me after my sparring sessions. My hands would get so stiff and locked in the shape of a sword grip afterwards. He did it like this and then the discomfort would stop.”

Talking about her father summoned the very memory of why he was no longer around. Jaime sat beside her on the bed. Despite her distress, she still held his stump.

“I’m sorry, Brienne.”

“I don’t blame you. You should not apologize.”

“I should,” he said. “She saw how I looked you. She saw how with you she could lose me. But in the end, it wasn’t because of you. It was her. Her betrayal. Her lies.”

 “You loved her,” she tried to reason with him. It hurt to say it but she knew this about him from the very beginning.

“I loved a lie. All my life I’ve only wanted to be with her. For us to be finally together. I—I tried to murder a child to protect her and our children but we lost them all anyway. She—she wanted Tyrion dead and accused him of our son’s murder. Paying off Bronn so he won’t fight The Mountain and putting Oberyn Martell in the position instead. She could have stopped it—if she only thought of Myrcella---”

Brienne caught him in her arms as he suddenly seemed to sag. Out of all his children that had died, his daughter was the most painful. She heard the princess had been poisoned and Cersei had done the same to Ellaria and one her daughters.

“I don’t want her here.” She didn’t have to ask who he spoke about. “I said we won’t speak of the past and we’re bloody fools doing the exact opposite.”

“There is no harm, no weakness, in remembering who we loved,” she told him.

“Not when you see the sickness of your soul brought about by the person.”

“But you left, Jaime.” She gave him a shake. “ _You left_. It will not undo what you have done but it’s a step towards hope. _Nothing_ is too late for as long as we still breathe and can fight.”

She wondered if she had gone too far but it was the truth. If she could trust her husband to keep true to his vows to her, then she will always be honest about her thoughts to him. His insistence to ignore the past, his apologies for what his presence had brought to them both—it was time he stop punishing himself. If he wasn’t going to realize that, he would hear it from her. _His wife._

“Breathe and fight for as long as we can,” he echoed.

“You’re here. That’s what matters.”

“It seems when we’re together, you awaken what little good remains in me.”

She shook her head. “I’ve done nothing. You’re a man of honor. I believe in that. I believe in you.”

Jaime stared at his stump in her hands. “You always have.”

She surprised herself, and him, she supposed, when her hand climbed to his cheek and kissed him. It was meant to comfort but he embraced her, pulling her close to his body. The blanket fell, and her hot gasp hit his tongue as her breasts came in contact with his hard chest and the crisp mat of hairs covering it. It sparked new sensations in her and she had to turn away from their kiss to catch her breath. Jaime raked his teeth down her throat, towards her collarbones, his stump resting against her cheek.

It was puckered and horribly scarred, yet she took it in her hand. Her lips were sure as they got acquainted with its raised surface. The smell of cloves did not deter her. She just wanted to kiss Jaime, to make him feel as good as he was doing to her. When she turned back to him, she was surprised to find him watching her intently.

She expected him to say something but did not. Instead, he urged her down the bed before stretching out beside her. With his hand, he pulled the rest of the blanket away from her body, leaving her covered in nothing else but her freckles and blush, firelight.

Stiff and with her arms on her sides, she stared at the ceiling first before slanting her gaze towards Jaime, who was leaning up on a fist and his stump resting on her stomach.

Then he lowered his head licked her nipple.

She arched with a gasp. The lick turned into a kiss, as his stump slipped under her back to scoop her up and press his mouth closer to her breast. His lips were warm and hungry as they suckled her nipple. As he lavished attention on the swelling rosy tip, his left hand cupped her other breast, kneading the gently mound, thumbing the puckering tip, pinching it, drawing another gasp from her.

She didn’t realize his name had been falling with breathless abandon from her lips until hearing herself. Reddening, she bit her lip as he turned her, putting her on top of him. She rested her elbows by his shoulders, shaking when his lips devoured her other nipple. This time hand and stump caressed her wide waist, her broad, flat hips, the outsides of her thighs. They pressed her down, down to his erection still covered by his breeches. Yet the cloth was no hindrance in letting her know how hard he was, or his size.

He freed her nipple and turned her again, putting her on the other side of the bed. His left hand caressed her cheek, buried in the rough tangle of her hair as his mouth returned to her lips, tender yet probing, edged with a slight roughness that made her hips roll and her legs restless. She felt on fire, burning from inside, melting. His hand returned to her cunt and it was different this time, his flesh and hers, their warmth shared and getting warmer. Through their kiss, he whispered her to open her legs, to let him touch her. And she did, her hands touching his shoulders, getting acquainted with his naked skin, the hard bunch of his muscles.

Her hands faltered in their caresses when a finger began to fuck her cunt. She gasped and moaned, her thighs straining against the instinct to clamp around his hand and stop his exploration of her. But he had wedged a leg between hers, and his mouth muffled whatever protests she would have made, if she wanted to make them. Though awkward at first, her hips soon began to move against his hand, rocking against him, parting her legs some more so his finger would lodge deeper. It was hard to tell where the wet sounds came from—if from their kisses or the increasing ferocity of his fingers thrusts in her cunt.

He fucked her hard and she fucked herself against them even harder, surrendering to the rising wantonness that made her head spin. Her big teeth sank on Jaime’s lip, imitating how he had bitten and tugged at hers earlier. She rubbed her tight, kiss-sore nipples against his chest, moaning lewdly, loudly at the delicious burn of his hairs, of his own nipples against hers. Her cries were sweet and throaty as his thumb played with her clit while his fingers kept the wonderful, rough rhythm of their thrusts inside her cunt. She never knew. Had no idea women could be touched this way. That men liked women to touch them like this.

As she clutched at Jaime and sobbed for him to fuck her harder, really fuck her, she became aware of the hard pillar of his cock against her thigh. He still wore his breeches but though still unseen, he already felt big. She was not afraid of pain but now worried if he will fit her cunt.

Their thrusts increased and her fever seemed to leap, little fires escaping from the pores of her skin. “Jaime,” she cried out, her eyes widening in shock and confusion as something seemed to hit her, the sharp, fiery lash of a whip. A shout left her as her hips lurched sharply, her cunt squeezing around his fingers, not wanting to let go. She thought she saw him smile, imagined him whisper, “Let it happen,” and because she trusted him, believed him, threw herself into the unknown chasm.

She didn’t fall into nothingness but Jaime’s arms, and his kiss, mouth slanting over hers, swallowing her cries over the new rapture overtaking her body. She was still moving, but softly now, and his fingers had eased a little. He kissed her consolingly when she whined, “No,” as he pulled out.

She didn’t know what just happened. One minute she was starving for his kisses, his touches. And the next, she seemed mad, delirious, wanting him, needing him, even telling him to fuck her. _She had told him to fuck her._ Though glad to have found relief in the nameless, wonderful sensation, she was worried about what Jaime would think of her. She was his wife. Wives never tell their husbands those things.

“Jaime,” she tried to say. “What I said—”

She stopped speaking as his head lowered to her body again. She cooed as he took her nipples again, pinched them, plucked them. Her legs opened on instinct as his hips settled between them. Her shame forgotten, she just basked in the heaven of his little kisses on her stomach, her waist, her hipbone—

“Wha—what are you—”

_Her cunt._

She shrieked as his tongue sank sure and arrogantly between her sopping folds, the tip nudging her open. Thrashing, she tried to get him off her, not because he was hurting or she didn’t like it. This was—this was madness! How—why? Yet despite being in possession of both hands, her hands clutched and scratched his shoulders, his back, rather than push him away. Her legs fell open rather than closed. She was red down to here toes at his loud slurps of her cunt. Again and again his tongue stroked her, licking the very sensitive, pink, petal-soft skin inside. He took her clit between his lips and suckled her hard, yanking another scream from her that no doubt echoed throughout Winterfell, and probably beyond the gates where his soldiers were stationed.

He sipped from her cunt as if it was an endless stream of wine, wanting every drop to be his and his alone. She removed her hands from him, fearful she might scratch and really hurt him, and instead vented the rising tension his kisses brought her on the sheets, the pillowcase. His tongue sank deep in her cunt, fucking her with lightning-quick thrusts.

She screamed then, shoving her cunt right at his face, shocking herself from her unfettered response. She tried to control her body but felt possessed by a force outside of her, a puppet master giving the strings one hard yank after the next. It was a fight she could never win yet the hard fall of her body back on the bed was a testament to an odd victory and was glorious.

As she caught her breath, she felt, rather than saw, Jaime tongue pull out of her cunt. Another lick, leisurely and slow, on her nub before his lips were trailing up to her stomach again, stopping for more kissing and suckles on her breasts before taking her mouth. His body was heavy between hers and she hugged him, her legs climbing shyly to wrap around his waist. There was a slightly bitter flavor to his lips and tongue now. Her face flared red as she realized this was _her_ , on him.

“Are you all right?” He asked between nips, licks. She turned to kiss his stump again and he groaned, catching the tip of her ear between his teeth and sucking it.

 _“Jaime,”_ she wailed, wanting to hold him forever.

“Tell me you’re ready,” he begged her, his hips surging against her. As he spoke, his hand slipped between them to pull at the laces of his breeches. “ _I need to fuck you_. Now.” 

She nodded, still not understanding why had to make her ready. Why—why kiss her, why make her feel good when he was still going to take her, fuck her? But he had not fucked her. Not how she expected to be fucked, not she was _told_ to expect because she was gangly, awkward and ugly. His fingers had fucked her to stretch her, she realized now, watching as he pulled off his breeches. His tongue fucked her. . .to what? Her legs, unusually limp, remained spread, her cunt wet and exposed, _empty._ It ached to be filled.

Jaime straightened up on his knees and her hand flew to her mouth. _He had to stretch her!_

She felt a little drunk though there was very little wine in her. Yet she felt heavy and relaxed, and her legs seemed to have a mind of their own, spreading open. Her cheeks were pink as Jaime fisted himself, his grunt throaty and animalistic before guiding it inside her. He leaned toward and kissed her on the mouth again.

“Put your arms around me,” he told her, so she did. Her legs, he hooked around his hips. He looked at her again and she bit her lip as she nodded.

“I promise not to hurt you more than need be,” he suddenly said just before his mouth closed over hers. As she kissed him back, she felt it, the round head of his cock circling her nub, rubbing against her still-drenched folds before plunging in. Her cry was of surprise rather than pain, muffled now under his hard, crushing kiss.

Her cunt struggled around the length and width of him. She blushed, moaned against his tongue as his cock rubbed back and forth inside her. His kisses kept her mouth wide open, his tongue in her throat. He was hard and trembling against her as he fought to fuck her with care, despite all his preparations of her. Under her palms was his spine, tight with tension. She moved and he stilled with a gasp.

“Brienne. Try—don’t---”

She shifted again. “What—”

“Fucking Seven—” Jaime groaned, and she squeaked as he buried the entire length of his cock inside her.

There _was_ pain. A sharp, momentary sting as he broke through her maidenhead. It was followed by that overwhelming fullness, her cunt straining around him. Jaime took her face and kissed her again, murmuring apologies and assurances through the tentative clashes of their tongues and the slides of their lips. When his hips began to pull back, she shook her head, terrified she had disappointed him but he lunged back inside her.

_“Jaime.”_

_“Brienne.”_

Forward and back his cock moved in her, sometimes just halfway, sometimes with just the head inside her cunt before he was surging inside her again, taking her breath, making her arch. Gone was the gentleness he had though she needed first. He took her hard, fucking her with a roughness that might break a smaller, softer woman in half. But not her. She was stronger than three men. Bigger and taller than a lot of men. His cock was brutal and relentless in fucking her.

But his kisses were sweet, his probing tongue gentle.

As he kissed and fucked her, she realized the two sides of Jaime Lannister. Before the crowd was the Kingslayer, arrogant, unapologetic, unblinking in the eye of death. Away from their jeers and whispers, he was vulnerable, a man haunted by his wrongs and desperate to do right. Two identities in one man. Both at war. Both she knew probably deeper than her own self.

As she rocked against him, following his heated instructions, his hand slipped between their bodies. She was kissing him around the face, pressing against his shoulder, so she didn’t know what he was doing until she felt the now-familiar brush of his thumb on her nub. There was no slow ascent to an unknow plane. Nor was there a chasm. Now was an explosion, of fires flaring from every inch of her skin, cradling her. As Jaime’s name fell from her lips again, he groaned loudly, roughly, and slumped against her.

She had no idea how long he lay in her arms, their sweat and pants mixing. A day may have passed, a week, and she wouldn’t care. There was little to care about when one felt. . . _right._ Beyond satisfaction and contentment, was the feeling of being in the right time, as the rightest she was at this point in her life. Idly, her fingers strummed the rich golden hairs on his head.

Jaime hummed and raised himself on his elbows. Her breathing came to a sudden stop. Soft was a word she never thought to describe him but there was something of that quality about him now. Never had she seen his emerald gaze so gentle, or that smile. Intimate. Knowing. One that she knew was only for her.

Their lips met in a brief but passionate kiss before he lowered his body beside her. As she curled into her body, he fetched the fur blanket from where it had fallen to the floor during their tussle. He covered her first before taking a section for himself. They faced each other.

“Are you all right?” He asked, a finger tracing the firm musculature of her arm, her shoulder.

She nodded. Except for something akin to a mild cramp in her thighs, there wasn't much discomfort. He dropped a kiss on her forehead.

“It will take a while,” he said, lacing his fingers between hers. “You’re young and a maiden. Well, you _were_ a maiden, until a few moments ago.” A smile lit up his face as she turned pink. “But I hope what happened did not disappoint you too much. I want to keep fucking you. I hope to be still alive when you’re no longer so fucking tight.”

“We will always be together,” she promised, turning his hand so she could kiss his palm. She also took his right arm to kiss his stump.

Some of the light fled from his eyes but it soon returned. It must a trick of the flickering flames around them.

“Come here,” he said, pulling her. Realizing he wanted her closer, she moved until every breath had her breasts brushing his chest. He kissed her on the lips again while slipping his leg between her thighs. His cheek pressed against hers.

“Y-you wish to fuck me again?” She asked. “Do you mean it?”

“Do you still doubt me, Brienne?”

She shook her head.

“I mean every word I’ve said since I got down on my knee in the Great Hall. Every word. Every touch. They are for you. There is no one else.”

She nodded and sighed deeply. “I do, Jaime. I believe you.”

 

*****  
Jaime fucked her twice more a few hours later. Her cunt was still slick with his semen so there was hardly any struggle in pushing his cock deep inside her. Through the paling flickers of candlelight, they looked in each other’s eyes. As the last of the candles died, she slammed into her release.

Her cries echoed throughout Winterfell, much to the amusement of sentries struggling to remain awake. Even the Lannister soldiers guarding their comrades chuckled under their breath. The Kingslayer, after all, knew how to use the sword and the Maid of Tarth seemed to find much satisfaction. No wonder Cersei Lannister refused to let him go.

But Cersei never once again entered the thoughts, nor the dreams of her brother and his warrior bride. For the first time in weeks, Jaime slept soundly. He curled up against Brienne’s back, his lips against her broad shoulder, his hand firm round her breast. Their thighs and legs were entangled, the warmth of the furs over their bodies preventing his semen from completely drying from her cunt.

Brienne was dreaming of herself back in Tarth. She was much younger and sparring with Selwyn. Red-cheeked and robust, he was a striking man with pale hair and stood half a head taller than everyone else in Tarth. Once resistant to her request to take up sword rather than needle, his sapphire eyes gleamed with pride as she managed to knock the sword off his hand. She smirked, one of the few times she felt proud and confident of herself.

As Selwyn grinned and held up his hands in surrender, she continued to point her sword at him. He was teasing and giving her further instructions for improvement when, to her horror, he began to disintegrate before her eyes. His supple skin sank into his face, leaving his cheeks hollowed until boned poked through. His clothes, hugging his thick, broad body, hung like a tattered sack as he wilted to bone and ragged flesh. Brienne screamed in horror when cold, dead blue eyes stared at her.

He was much taller and clearly unafraid. She turned and ran, forgetting to take her father’s sword as she tore through the halls of Evenfall Hall, shouting for help. But no guard, not even a septa nor a cook came to her. Instead, every time she turned, the wight her father had become stalked her, dragging his bones and sagging flesh of ice behind him. . .

She woke up with a gasp, a cry. Jaime, who was a light sleeper like her, woke up. “What is it?”

She was panting, confused, her mind still heavy with sleep, the image of her father as a member of the Night King’s army of the undead lingering. She turned to answer him when horns blared from outside.

Once.

Twice.

Three times. Then rapid, frantic bursts of the sound through the night. She and Jaime looked at each other as indecipherable cries came from outside. Fearing an attack, they both leaped out of bed and started to dress.

“War elephants!” Someone yelled outside their door.  “It’s the Golden Company!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted the sex to be awkward.
> 
> :-)


	6. A Spectacle for the Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some deaths ahead.

 

Huddled in the Great Keep of Winterfell were the lords of the north, Jon Snow, the Starks, Daenerys Targaryen and advisers such as Davos Seaworth, Tyrion Lannister and Yohn Royce. Maester Wolkan was also there, standing next to Sansa, Arya and Bran when Jaime and Brienne arrived. They exchanged a look, both reaching for each other’s hand. A quick kiss on the lips followed before Brienne took her position with them while Jaime continued his way toward the crowd gathered around the king of the north.

“Scouts under the command of Tormund Giantsbane report that the Golden Company are here,” Jon was saying, putting a map marker with the head of an elephant down on the spot he was talking about. The sounds of the raging battle outside were muffled because of the thick, unyielding walls of Winterfell but the cries of the men were clear.

Seeing Jaime approach, he said, “They’re attacking your army. Why would your sister attack them?”

“Because I took them from her,” Jaime answered. He looked around, his expression aghast and mocking. “What the fuck are we still doing here discussing their location? My men are being slaughtered as we speak. Didn’t you have Lady Brienne marry me to ensure my loyalty and my army? We should be out there.”

“You fooled my armies into attacking Casterly Rock once,” Daenerys told him. “What’s the guarantee this is not another show, Kingslayer?”

“We’re talking about this again?” Jaime growled, shouldering past the other lords in his way to stand directly across Jon and Daenerys. The map table was right between them.  Brienne flushed, her eyes dropping to the floor at the latest charge against her husband.

 _Her husband._ Her lips still tingled from their countless kisses. Her cunt had a sweet soreness from their fucking, and to her ears, the hush of a squish every time she moved. She could still feel him, and a new hollowness inside her. Raising her eyes, she saw Jaime struggling between diplomacy and temper.

“I’m here and I’ve done as you’ve demanded of me. If my loyalty will always be put into question, I will not only take away my army but also my wife. Your sworn sword and shield.” His eyes arrowed right at Jon but it was Daenerys who responded.

“Despite the promise of my dragons burning you alive?”

“Burn us all,” he scoffed, giving everyone a glimpse of the hateful, arrogant Kingslayer he used to be.  “Your father was mad for it. What would that prove? That you have the strongest weapons in this war? Weapons don’t bring victory, girl. Gold buys loyalty only for as long it lasts. It’s an army that will fight for you to the death. You have that with your rapacious Dothraki and cock-less Unsullied. But the north? If they’re loyal to you by fear, it’s only a matter of time before it turns to thirst for your blood.”

“And you know this how?”

“Why the fuck do you think I’m freezing my balls off here?”

There was an audible murmur of shock at his words flung at the dragon queen. Daenerys’ face remained bland but Brienne was already eyeing her advisors and guards. The Dothraki clad in hastily-sewn furs was taller and bigger than her but she was unafraid.

“I’m here to know of a plan. But if I don’t get my orders right this minute, I’m leaving to rescue my men. I don’t give a fuck if that’s treason.” Jaime told Jon.

“The war elephants will trample armies,” Jon said, giving Daenerys a significant look. “There is a way to end this without more bloodshed.”

“My dragons to save the Kingslayer’s men?” Daenerys demanded in disbelief.

“Your Grace, the Golden Company have twenty thousand men. The Lannister army is at most eight thousand. We need them.” Tyrion Lannister spoke carefully. He got the brunt of her icy glare but he refused to back down. “Now is the time for living, not for differences. The past has already been written.”

“Perhaps the dragons should not be used right off,” Jaime said after a moment, drawing Daenerys’ surprise. “Qyburn. When you attacked us in the open field, my man Bronn used the scorpion to ground you and that monster of yours. The Golden Company would surely have it too.”

Daenerys scowled at his reference to her dragon as a monster. Brienne thought the queen a fool to call those beasts as her children. They breathed fire and can never be tamed.

“He’s right. The dragons are too valuable for something that will only be a skirmish when this is all over. We take on the Golden Company.” Jon declared. As everyone began to protest, he thundered, “If we can make alliances with the Wildlings, who were our enemies since the beginning of time, why not with another enemy? I ask every man and woman in this room. If your enemy would ensure your survival, would you still say no?”

“We owe the Lannisters nothing,” Yohn Royce said with a look of disgust at Jaime.

“Ser, this is no longer the time for divided Houses. The only thing we must be loyal to is life,” Sansa spoke up, surprising everyone. Everyone was quick to fall silent and listen. “Your mountains shielded you from their abuse. As someone who has experienced it first-hand, I should never speak of working with them. But Lord Tyrion is right. We must fight for the living. The past and all that divided us no longer matter.”

Pride swept through Brienne while listening to her address the nobility. Even in her simple but well-stitched garb of gray and blue, she carried herself like a queen. But she was the queen in the north. _The rightful queen._

Suddenly, there was a loud pounding on the door. “Please, let me in!” Jon nodded at the guards, who quickly opened the heavy double doors. A young Stark guard fell forward, panting and red in the face.

“Your Grace, my lords. There’s a rider with a white flag.” He gasped. “He has an eyepatch. He says he’s Euron Greyjoy. He’s with the commander of the Golden Company. Strickland is the name.”

“It’s a trap,” Jaime warned them.

“We will see him in the Great Hall,” Jon announced.

 

****  
Brienne’s hand was beginning to stiffen from holding the half-drawn Oathkeeper against her. Euron Greyjoy stood in the middle of the hall, smirking and with a murderous, sadistic gleam in his one visible eye. At his feet was a dark sack.

He had looked at Sansa as if she were naked as he sauntered in. She sat at the High Table on Jon’s right, with Daenerys on his left. Arya and Bran sat next to their sister. The height of their position exposed them to Euron’s lecherous stare and Brienne wasn’t having it. She put herself right in his line of sight, effectively blocking Sansa from him. Jaime stood next to her as well, frowning at the King of the Iron Islands. Euron smirked at their obvious maneuver before chuckling to himself.

The other lords looked sickened just to be in the same room as the murderous pirate.

Outside, the battle had stopped for the moment.

“State your business,” Jon commanded.

Euron pointed at Jaime. “Him.”

“What about Jaime Lannister?”

“His sister, my wife-to-be,” Euron began with relish, “requests his presence back in King’s Landing. Refuse to return him and her mercenaries will pulverize the Lannister armies and yours.” His smile was maniacal as he turned to Daenerys. “And your dragons. As we all know, the queen is fond of her brother.”

“Say we refuse,” Jon said. “She will kill us all. Won’t she just be feeding more bodies to the Night King’s army?”

“The queen has the Golden Company. Oh, and I almost forgot,” Euron drawled, picking up the bundle at his feet and peering inside dramatically. He chuckled and smiled at them. “My finest masterpiece, so far. She knows you will resist, Ser Jaime—“he started laughing hysterically before giving the package another look. “So, here are, oh, a few reasons why you should not.”

He lifted the bag, gave everyone a grin that straddled boyish and evil before emptying its contents on the floor of the great hall. Brienne wondered at first why had brought such round rocks until she realized in horror what they were.

_They were human heads._

There were gasps and cries of horror and outrage as Euron sent the heads rolling all over the Great Hall. Lyanna Mormont cursed. Tormund Giantsbane looked sickened. Brienne froze as a head with longish hair rolled toward them. Jaime stepped forward and put his foot on the man’s ear, stopping it from moving. A glance told them who it was.

_Ser Bronn of the Blackwater._

Euron laughed with sadistic glee at the morbid display. Blood colored the floors, and bits of brain and spine littered them. The air was thick with the stench of metal and death.

Jaime’s face was of pure horror. After realizing whose head he had stopped, he lunged toward Euron. She grabbed him unthinkingly. But it was too late. The pirate’s eyes rested on their joined hands before traveling up to her face.

Death gleamed from his eyes. “I know you.”

“Brienne.” Jaime whispered urgently. “Let go.”

“You’re not going with him,” she hissed.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“So,” Euron said to Jon. “Do I get the Kingslayer back? I believe the queen wants one last night with her brother’s cock in her ass—”

He was laughing as he spoke and reacted too late when Jaime went after him again. His sword was silver lightning flashing in the air as it slashed towards the pirate’s torso. Euron turned away just in time, pulling out his own sword to slam it against Jaime’s subsequent blow. Brienne didn’t hesitate, unsheathing Oathkeeper and going after Euron. But he was quick, used to fighting on unsteady surface and taking on more than one enemy. He kicked Jaime on the back, sending him sprawling to the floor. He grinned, savoring the kill, his order be damned, when Brienne roared in fear and fury.

Euron turned, ready to strike but she was quicker. Oathkeeper cut through the air and across his throat.

Blood splattered from his body as his head flew towards the lords. They threw themselves to the ground as it bounced off the concrete before slamming on the floor. Then it rolled slowly toward Davos Seaworth’s boots.

Brienne, kneeling and with her bloody sword plunged in the ground, was panting when she heard the angry thud of boots approaching. She barely looked up before Jaime was yanking her by the arm and forcing her to her feet. “What the hell did you do?”

She flinched from his shout. He looked positively furious, seething and his elegant nostrils flaring. “I was protecting you!”

“You don’t trust me!”

“He was going to hurt you!”

“When will you trust me?”

_“I’m your wife!”_

“Enough!” Jon yelled at them. They whipped their heads toward him the High Table. He was on his feet and glowering at them.  Embarrassed, Brienne hung her head. Jaime was breathing loudly next to her, shaking from the effort in keeping in control.

Jon glanced at Euron’s head still bleeding on the ground before turning to Jaime. “This is the last time you put all of us at risk. Another and being married to Lady Brienne will not protect you.”

Brienne tried to look at Jaime. He had been impulsive. He could have been in better control. But Euron Greyjoy, his sister, had treated his. . .what was Bronn? Friend. Both men would deny it, but they had been friends. She couldn’t blame Jaime for lashing out at Euron.

“Bring the commander of the Golden Company here.” Jon ordered the guards.

Jon looked at her until the guards returned with the commander of the Golden Company. Brienne finally dared to look at Jaime, who had calmed, somewhat, but was still glaring at her. Jon descended from the platform and stood with the two warriors as the commander was brought to him.

For a commander of the most-feared mercenary unit from Essos, his appearance was most unexpected. He was not very tall in stature and he was too lean for a warrior. But he looked capable of handling a sword. Brienne assumed speed was his strength.

He saw Euron’s headless body still kneeling on the ground, following the trail of blood toward the platform of the High Table. He looked at the people on the High Table before settling on Jon. Bland as his expression was, his stare was icy.

“Who are you?” Jon demanded.

“Harry Strickland.” He glanced at Euron’s head again and chuckled. “The queen will not be pleased with that.”

“The queen paid you gold to take her brother back.”

“Indeed. Unless you have a better offer.”

“Yes. Your life.” As the commander looked at Jon as if he was joking, the king continued, “Leave us, return to Essos with the gold you have, or you’ll find your end here.”

“Have you not heard of us?” Strickland said. “Our word is as good as gold. We don’t make any other deals unless it’s more gold.”

“What about your life?” Daenerys pointed out, standing up.

“Ah, the Breaker of Chains, the Dragon Queen,” Strickland made a mocking bow. “In the flesh.”

“I am also the Unburnt and the Mother of Dragons,” Daenerys said as she climbed down the steps. Jorah Mormont, who was waiting for her, made a move to advance but she stopped him with her hand on his shoulder. Without missing a beat, she continued speaking as she approached. “But who’s really counting? Although, one title that is very close to me is the Unburnt. You can’t be a mother to dragons if you’re not.”

“Cersei Lannister has gold. You burn us, and she will hire another.” Strickland was suddenly smug. “I know for a fact the Second Sons are very close to your heart. One Second Son.”

“My word is not as good as anything. It will be taken as is,” Daenerys declared, making her way between Jaime and Jon. “Withdraw your army or know of fire and blood.”

“The queen’s brother for your lives, my lords. And ladies.” Strickland addressed everyone in the hall, before suddenly pausing upon noticing Sansa. He smirked at Jaime before glanding pointedly at the heads scattered around them. “You know this can be done without more bloodshed.”

“I don’t see the point of avoiding more,” Jaime answered.

Without warning, he drove his sword right into the Golden Company commander’s heart. Wide eyes stared at him in shock before pulling out the blade. Strickland stared at the hole in the center of him, at the blood gushing out. He swayed on his feet before falling head-first to the floor. A bony crunch echoed throughout the Great Hall.

Jaime stared at the dead body at his feet then turned to Jon. “Give me my orders, king,” he said, practically spitting the word. “Or I take my army and dragons and your fucking Wildlings be damned.”

“The North,” Jon yelled, looking around the room at the faces surrounding them. “With me!”

 

*****  
Wintefell was in chaos with horses being saddled, archers scrambling for their bows and the other soldiers surging in and out of the armory for their armor, swords and shields. Brienne pushed against the crush, finding relief in the shouts. They drowned out the voice in her conscience for leaving the Starks with Podrick. She knew her place. She was never going to forget. But her husband.

She found him barking orders at other soldiers. Despite the northerners’ disapproval of his presence, Jaime Lannister was a man to follow. He stood by his horse while it was awaiting the final stages of being saddled. As she rushed to him, familiar, raised voices reached her ears.

“The dragons will save the men we need for this war!” Daenerys was saying in exasperation to Jon Snow.

“They’re too valuable. No. We take them with the army we have,” Jon insisted as his horse was brought to him.

“You bent the knee to me and you have my dragons. _My children._ You know the sacrifice I’ve made.”

“And I’m telling you the dragons are an unnecessary sacrifice. Daenerys,” Jon grabbed her by the shoulders. _“You can’t go.”_

She snatched his hands off her. “You will lose your men, Jon.”

“This is war. Men are always lost.”

“I thought this was only to be a skirmish. There need not be any losses!”

As the argument continued, Brienne finally made her way to Jaime. He was about to get on his horse but sensed her. Perhaps he had been seen her from the beginning and was just waiting for her.

She waited until he turned around, almost grudgingly. They had been pushed apart from the moment Jon ordered all the northern forces to attack the Golden Company. In the rush, they were only able to stare at each other in shock before she had to turn away and usher the Starks to safety. Her reluctance in leaving them remained but her heart revolted against the idea of letting Jaime go into battle without speaking to him.

They stared at each other in silence, their jewel-colored eyes memorizing, searching. Then they moved toward each other until only their armor kept them apart. As his hand climbed to her cheek, hers coasted down the long line of his arms before holding him—his metal hand, his wrist above it.

“I should not have yelled at you,” he said tightly. “But you scared me.”

“I’m not going to stand back and let you fight battles that are no longer just yours, Jaime.” She sighed as he rested his forehead against hers.

“I should not forget such is the woman I married.”

They set apart from each other, then, but without any significant distance. Jaime kissed her on the cheek and her arms circled his shoulders. He sank into her embrace without hesitation, her more powerful bulk easily taking him. She held him tighter.

“It was not because of her.”

“I—I don’t understand?” She asked, reluctant to let him go even just a little to see his face.

“I didn’t attack Euron because of what he said about Cersei. It was Bronn.” His tone was bitter. “All the man wanted was a wife and a castle.”

With a boldness uncharacteristic of her, she pressed a full kiss on his mouth. She almost pulled back, realizing how forward this must be. They were married but she was a lady and he a lord. But his metal hand pressed against the back of her head and kept their lips joined, the kiss deepening. A whimper escaped her as their tongues collided.

Their breaths were unsteady as they pulled away. “Jaime,” she tried to say. She kissed both his hands. “Jaime, I want you to know—”

“I know. It’s unforgivable how newlyweds like us have to part so soon.” He brought her head closer to whisper in her ear, “If we were in bed, I would wake you now. Fuck you again. Fuck you until we pass out.”

She blushed but shook her head. “No, that’s not what I want to say—”

“I know what you want to say,” he said, pressing two fingers against her lips. She trembled from the emotions welling up inside her at the slow but desperate slant of his mouth on her. “At least, I think I do. Tell me on my return.” He took her hand and kissed her on the palm. “I swear it, my wife. I will fight to remain alive to keep my vows to you.”

Something pricked the back of her eyes and she blinked rapidly. “I expect no less,” she said before throwing her arms around him.

 

*****  
The sun did not rise.

Snow fell like rain. What magic there was in the sight, no one could see. As the battle outside the gates raged on, servants and other commonfolk rushed around Winterfell pounding more nails on rooftops straining under the increasing weight of snow. Efforts to clear the ground of ice from the sky were futile.

Bodies poured into Winterfell. Bodies with cuts and holes, with hacked limbs. The snow was red with blood that never ceased to flow as the fallen arrived in throes, sometimes screaming, sometimes groaning. Maesters, nurses, septas and the other women were up day and night tending to the wounded. Sansa and Arya worked side by side with them. Arya had a stronger stomach than her sister, at times being called upon to saw off an infected limb while a stronger woman held a screaming soldier down. The first few times Sansa had to sew up torn skin, she had retched on the snow. This did not shame her in the eyes of the north. In fact, the presence of the sisters, though they still clearly needed guidance, bolstered the morale of everyone. The last thing soldiers saw before succumbing to death was the flash of auburn hair, or the small, swiftly moving body through the crowds. Though there was no Stark on their side when they welcomed the Stranger, they left the world knowing they had honored their vows to their ladies.

The dead were dumped in mass graves. Bran kept watch over the Night King, and his revelations got more dire by the hour. Ser Yohn Royce advised that a small regiment be sent to give the undead a northern welcome but Sansa wouldn’t hear of it. The battle against the Golden Company had been going on for three days and the dead bodies were piling up. The elder commander was frustrated with her edict but had no choice to follow.

Brienne could see the sense in sending men ,but they needed every man, woman and child who could swing a sword for the war to end all wars. Winterfell with its reinforced walls was their only defense and it would have to do right now. Royce pleaded with Sansa to at least evacuate, trying to convince her the safety offered by the mountains in the Eyrie. She wouldn’t hear of it.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, Lord Royce,” she declared firmly. “If we leave, who will the people fight for? Why will they still fight?”

After Royce was dismissed, Tyrion Lannister entered the chambers next.

Though he looked nothing like Jaime, seeing him was painful for Brienne. With her loyalties swinging between the Starks and her husband, she could only stammer questions about his condition. The soldiers, delirious with pain, hardly offered anything concrete. They saw him fighting. He was always fighting. She clung to the news.

“My lord.” Sansa’s tone did not have its usual steel as she addressed her former husband. Tyrion inclined his head.

“My lady.” He acknowledged, and also bowing in Brienne’s direction. “Lady Brienne.”

“How fares your dragon queen?” Sansa asked him directly. “I’m told she’s displeased about being regulated to ordering her dragon to burn the dead.”

“She is not used to staying behind,” Tyrion explained. “In fact, I have come here to speak to you exactly about this.”

Sansa let out a sigh, glancing at Brienne before turning back to Tyrion. “What does she want?”

“Your brother only brought a small army with him, Lady Sansa. Based on the numbers we have within the walls and the dead, he only has less than half with him now.” Tyrion suddenly hesitated then continued. “He also took a small contingent of the Unsullied and Dothraki with him. Grey Worm is dead. He is the queen’s—”

“ _The_ queen?”

Tyrion looked at her. “She is the heir to the Iron Throne, my lady.”

Sansa glanced at Brienne, realizing that he did not share what they knew.

“As you say, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa said with a wave of her hand. “What of your queen and her Unsullied?”

“The Unsullied and Dothraki fight for her because they know she will fight for each and every one of them. Commander or a mere foot soldier. Every one of them, my lady. The battle has been going on for three days now. If I may speak directly---”

“Since when do you speak otherwise?”

“Dragons. Daenerys once again offers her dragons. This battle will be over before we know it and save lives.”

“My brother believes the dragons are too valuable for a battle that the future will only describe as an encounter, at most,” Sansa began, standing up from her seat and walking towards the fireplace. Tyrion looked at Brienne, as if asking for permission before approaching Sansa.

He stood close enough to her, still giving her space. Against the orange and golden flames, their shadowed figures cast them in a soft, embracing light. Even with just her profile facing them, there was no denying the delicate beauty of Sansa. Though slightly stooped and pale from lack of sleep, she still carried herself with strength and determination. The light softened Tyrion’s harsh, almost-monstrous features too. Gone was the arrogant tilt of his head when addressing everyone. With Sansa, he was. . .gentle. Sympathetic.

“In this instance I agree with him. The dragons are too valuable,” she continued, turning to Tyrion. “But I also agree with you. The dragons will save the men. The Golden Company are too many and a lot more well-equipped than all of us in the north.”

“Does this mean Daenerys can take her dragons into battle?”

Sansa was about to speak when she remembered another piece of the secret Jon had shared with them. “I have heard that she nearly fell of her dragon during an attack against the Lannister forces.”

“It is a risk she is well aware of.”

“She should not be so careless with her life. After all, she is _your_ queen. You believe the Seven Kingdoms will unite under her leadership.” Sansa said. “I support the use of the dragons the soonest it is possible. But Lord Tyrion, I ask that you speak to her first. As her Hand, I believe you must be in possession of certain truths about her before anyone else. Perhaps even truths only you should know.”

Tyrion was puzzled. “What do you speak of?”

“It is unfortunately not my place. You are her Hand. Now is the time to see how much she trusts you.”

 Sansa was right. Daenerys’ pregnancy should come from herself. Realizing he will not be getting any more answers, Tyrion excused himself with another bow. As he neared the door, Sansa called him back.

“Is there news of Jon? Of Ser Jaime?”

“His men report of an injury to the chest, but your brother refuses to return here for treatment. Of my brother. . .” Tyrion looked at Brienne.

Brienne gripped the lion’s head at the pommel of Oathkeeper.

“His horse has returned. There is no word of him. I’m sorry, Lady Brienne.”

 

****  
There was only darkness in the world.

Brienne did not feel the ice under her knees as she knelt in the godswood, her head resting heavily on the lion’s head pommel as Oathkeeper’s blade remained buried in the snow.

After Tyrion left, a guard had come to Sansa’s chambers with more bad news: more bodies had arrive in Winterfell. Dead bodies. Tormund Giantsbane was among them. Jorah Mormont had taken a war hammer to the chest and was struggling to breathe. Sansa sprang into action at once, barking orders as she left. Brienne forced herself to move on stiff legs when her lady suddenly turned to address her. “Everyone else is too busy saving the men. Perhaps a lone voice to the gods will get them to listen just this once.”

“I don’t understand—”

“You vow to protect me and my family, Lady Brienne. The gods are tired of me.” Sansa’s tone was bitter. “I’m only a girl. It’s time they hear from someone perfectly capable of making them feel fear for the first time.” At that, she turned and rushed away. Brienne was hurt from her sudden brusqueness until she realized it was intentional. Sansa was giving her a moment to mourn.

She had stumbled into the godswood, ignoring the guards’ shout that she come back. She refused to look in the direction of the battle but heard the cries of soldiers both fallen and still fighting. Struggling to keep her tears at bay, she was trembling by the time she was surrounded by the strange faces carved on the trees. Alone in the cursed, desolate north, she finally screamed her anguish.

Her cy was for her father, whose bones were still rattling against the walls of the limestone cliffs of Tarth. For Renly. She too had screamed as her king perished in her arms and had vowed never to be so helpless again. The Stranger would bleed when she fought for the ones she loved.

_Jaime._

She wept and cursed, pulling her sword out and plunging it deep in the snow, as the random spot was the heart of the Stranger. It remained buried there, since, and she on her knees, her wail awakening the pain she had buried so deeply inside rather than alleviating it.

This war. The gods. Had they not taken so much already? First her mother. Then the other heirs of House Tarth. Her brother. _Her father._ What was the Stranger waiting for? An ocean and a war kept her from the Sapphire Isle and even if she were there, what would she do? She had nothing to offer but her sword. She was mannish and awkward, too ugly and harsh. But wasn’t that the way with the Stranger—that it fed on good souls? It took Ned Stark first. Then her Lady Catelyn. The Stranger took the best of people and tortured those who were left behind.

 _Jaime._ Her heart twisted at the thought. He went to the north because of a vow he had made. Married her without question. And maybe even loved her. There was no hate in his kisses and his touches. He had sought her with a need that went beyond his own. In the short hours they had as husband and wife, she had begun to believe love was possible for the likes of her. _Get used to me looking in your eyes and the rest of you._ And he did. The only one to see her as her, not as a sword, not as a knight. But _her._ All of her.

Her eyes ached from the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. The wet, salty tracks were now frozen on her cheeks. She stared at the sky, desperate for a sliver of light. The ice in her lungs told her there would be no more. No light. No warmth.

_No life._

No one should latch on to her in any way. She only brought death. Her vows spelled their doom. Her father. Renly. Lady Catelyn. Jaime. _I am yours and you are mine from this day till the end of my days._

The end of her days should mean silence in her heart. But here she was, feeling it beat against Oathkeeper. It had better use torn out of her chest and left to bleed and throb in the snow.

She had no idea how long she was slumped against Oathkeeper. Her senses were dulled. The blare of horns that announced the arrival of the injured and the dead was feeble. Her breeches were wet from the snow, but she hardly noticed. The Night King could march for Winterfell at this very moment and she would welcome him with an offer of her throat for his sword.

“They said you’d be here. I fucking refused to believe you’d be so stupid to be out here during a godsdamned war.”

She sobbed then. Best to end her life. She was going mad.

“What did I tell you about getting used being looked at by me?”

Jaime. Even in death he won’t shut up. She brushed her hand across her eyes and braced herself for his ghost. She turned, and her heart stopped.

Swathed mostly in darkness and the faint light from the torches around the gates of Winterfell, with dried blood on his hair and face, his hand clutching at his side, his armor and cloak stiffened by frozen blood and dirt, was Jaime Lannister.

“Y-you’re alive?” She whispered, wondering if this was another cruel game by the gods.

“I told the Stranger to fuck himself in the ass before thinking to take me. Of course, I’m alive,” Jaime snapped as he staggered towards her. With a joyous cry, she shot to her feet and raced toward him.

Jaime yelped as her heavy bulk crashed against him. In their bone-crushing embrace, they trembled against each other. His dented, frozen armor was bruising her—she wore only a fur-lined leather jerkin under her heavy cloak.

 They clung at each other with a bone-crushing grip, their breaths shaky and their legs struggling to keep them upright. “Jaime, Jaime. You’re back. You’re really back,” Brienne whispered over and over again, not caring if she sounded like an idiot. He responded by tightening his hold around her even more. Breathing was becoming challenge. She turned just as he planted his mouth on her.

It was kiss of fiery urgency, a challenge to the worsening winter around them. Brienne cupped Jaime’s face in her hands, pushing past his lips to bury her tongue deep in his warm mouth. As their tongues dueled, his hand pressed against her breast, groaning in protest at the hindrance of leather and laces. She whimpered as he suddenly slammed her against a tree, snow falling on them. Their kiss softened, but only a little.

Jaime’s lips drifted to her cheek, toward her jaw. Her arms lowered to his shoulders, her hands holding him loosely as he pressed more kisses on other parts of her—her neck, her shoulder, teeth biting at the leather that hid her flesh from him. Dazed and heady that he was alive, she let him undo the snaps and buckles of her cloak until it fell at their feet. His lips returned to her mouth as he worked on the laces of her jerkin this time. Realizing what was going to happen, her fingers trailed down his armor, feeling the ridges and dents. Her hand slipped past the tassets to cup his cock.

 _“Brienne,”_ he growled, biting at her swollen lower lip and sucking it. She gasped as he pushed her jerkin open, baring her breasts. He hissed at the glove that still covered his hand so he tossed it away, fondling the slight curve of her breast. She quaked as cold bit her nipples and moaned in lusty approval when his mouth closed around one.

She cradled his head as it turned side to side feasting on her nipples, his fingers pinching them. She was cold but also felt as if she was burning alive with every lash of his tongue on her. His name was a rough, husky chant from her lips as he devoured the tight, red-pink peaks. Her chest was tight, every breath now a gasp. But she begged him to never stop. She had to know this was no dream.

He unlaced her breeches and freed one of her legs from it. As the winds of winter stirred the sodden curls of her cunt, she suddenly remembered where they were. The sensible, respectful thing to do was to stop. She knew he would. But the gods had taken so much from them already. Her father. His children. His hand. _They will just have to watch us live._

“Help me,” Jaime rasped as his mouth closed around her lips again. He pulled her hand down. Toward his cock still protected by his bloody and frozen breeches. Despite the cold, she was a deep, vivid pink in the face, down to her chest, and now approaching crimson as her hands clumsily but determinedly freed his cock. They sighed in relief as his breeches finally fell to his ankles. He grabbed one of her legs and hooked it around his arm.

They stared at each other, their eyes dark with desire. She nodded and he slammed his cock hard inside her.

There was no gentleness, no apprehension in their fucking. The rough, heavily-ridged surface of the bark scratched cut through the flesh of her bottom, the back of her thighs. His steel hand was frozen against her cheek. The fingers of his other hand abused and tormented her nipple in ways that should not make her cunt any wetter. Snow continued to fall on them as their bodies rocked hard against the tree. Wet, intimate sounds rose from their kiss, from his cock ramming repeatedly in her cunt.

Her wails of passion echoed throughout the godswood as he fucked her without mercy. He gasped against her mouth, in between tugs of his teeth at her lip how he fought to get back. That he refused to leave this world without seeing her with his own eyes and holding her again. Panting, he vowed to put a sword through every blasted god that got between them. He was hers. She was his. Till the end of their days. And it was not day. There will be no such day. _He will see to it._

She will do the same. The Stranger will have the bloodiest fight in his hands.

Her shout of release was that of a victorious warrior until he kissed her and claimed every cry and moan that followed as his and only his. She gave it all to him, tightening her leg around his hip, her cunt greedily squeezing every drop from his cock.

If she could, she would never let him go. She kissed him tenderly, but her hold was fierce. They will always be like this.

 

****  
After catching their breath and just holding each other under the tree, their legs collapsed under them. Brienne squealed as her bottom landed on ice while Jaime grunted as his knee took the brunt of the fall.

Suddenly, they started laughing. And before long, they were kissing again. Their mouths refused to part as she worked on the buckles of his armor. Because it was dented and misshapen in so many places, they couldn’t remove it right away. Jaime tossed it away and it landed with a soft clink in the snow before returning to her arms.

He spread her legs impossibly wide. She blushed and cooed as he hungrily drank from her cunt, slurping their combined taste collected inside her. The sky remained dark, starless, and their bodies were covered in goosebumps, but she felt on fire. Her eyes closed in pleasure as his hand sought her breast. Its coldness startled her and had her eyes popping open. It was his steel hand, heavily crusted with blood. As Jaime’s tongue fucked her, she hurriedly loosened the straps and pushed the sleeve back.

His stump was heavily bruised. She could only imagine the pain he was under and so brought it to her lips, kissing it as she would his lips. Jaime’s kisses on her cunt faltered before completely stopping. She only realized this when she felt the whisper of a cold wind between her semen-slicked thighs, ruffling the curls of her cunt. Her hand held his stump as she stilled and felt her cheeks burn. Biting her lip, she finally slanted her gaze toward Jaime.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said quietly. “It’s not for kisses.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the hand that slew the Mad King. The hand that pushed Bran out of the window.”

She stared at the stump as she spoke. “You told me before you were the hand you lost. Do you still believe that?”

“I don’t have anything to offer you, Brienne. We’ve been married less than a day and I almost broke my vow to you.”

“But you did not.” She kissed him firmly on the stump and heard him breathe sharply. Her eyes shimmering with another fresh bout of tears, she whispered, “What matters is you came back.”

“No more tears for me, please,” he begged, stretching over her and kissing her on the lips.

He fucked her with a gentleness that drew the tears he asked her to no longer shed. His cock fucking her was the peace she found in this endless war. She would whimper and gasp as he covered her face with more kisses than she could possibly count. Every time he stopped thrusting in her for another kiss, his body was rigid with tension. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face, quick to cool and freeze. Eventually, she started kissing him back, matching every press of his lips on hers. Instinct told her to flatten her feet on the cloak so she could roll her hips in a rhythm perfectly attuned to his. As she came, he didn’t take her cries this time. He just watched and held her before suddenly groaning against her shoulder.

They put their clothes back on. Brienne didn’t ask to see his injuries, knowing he would insist that he was alright. His stamina was testament to the state of his health but she knew how stubborn he could get. So, as they lay on their cloaks, she raised his shirt.

Jaime froze in surprise and would have pushed his shirt back down if he had two hands. Worry was etched on Brienne’s face as she saw the awful purple bruises mapped around his stomach, his chest. His armor should have protected him but judging from the marks, he may as well have gone to battle without it. She didn’t have to squint too hard to see them. Despite the darkness, there was no mistaking the gravity of his injuries.

“Your brother said your horse came back without you,” she said, putting a gentle hand on a large bruise on his stomach.

“I couldn’t steer and hold the reins with my fucking golden hand because I had to use the other to fight,” he grumbled. “I fell and got trampled on by some horses and very heavy men. That’s the last I remember. Someone must have dragged me away.”

Reminded that she thought him dead, she lay down beside him. She pulled his shirt back down before wrapping a strong arm around his waist. She quieted her sobs by pressing her mouth against shoulder. She hated how she could never stop crying.

“I’m alive, Brienne. I swear to always come back to you.” He said, holding her against him.

“I can’t, Jaime. I’ve already lost too much. Please, I can’t lose you too.”

“You won’t. I swear it. On what little honor I may still have.”

She shook her head and raised her head. He caressed the blotchy cheek. “You are a man of honor, Jaime.”

“No, I’m not. There’s something I haven’t told you yet. Or maybe you already know.”

“What is it?”

Jaime held her hand to his heart. He stared at her for so long she wondered if he forgot what he was going to say. Again, she wished for light. She could only see outline of his face. She longed to see his eyes.

“Cersei is pregnant.”

Darkness was the world they lived in until he spoke. Brienne felt swallowed by a hell that went deeper than the seven they knew. In it, there was no concept of hope. Nor light. Only ceaseless torment.

This time there were no tears. Tears meant relief. Nothing of this sort in her hell.

Jaime remained silent as she digested this newest revelation. He was going to have another child. With his sister.

It should not hurt because it was not a betrayal. It happened before he went north, before their vows. She loved him but fought every thought of him, everything that reminded her of him that tried to lodge deep in her heart. Until a few days ago, it was a battle where she was the clear victor. All the love she should never feel for him she channeled in perfecting her skill with Oathkeeper, training the new, fresh-faced recruits into the army. Love she exchanged for vows. That though House Tarth would die with her, it would end with honor.

His heart beating fast under her palm told her of his anxiety, his regret. But if he had not told her, what then?

He told her because he trusted her. He trusted her to never leave him for this latest crime. What, exactly was his crime? For sleeping with his sister? You don’t get to choose who you love, he told her a lifetime ago, it felt. Of Jaime, in the time they had been together from their escape in Renly’s camp until they parted at King’s Landing, and their too-brief reunions in Riverrun and at the Dragonpit, the things she could trust him with just grew. His honor. His vow. His courage to make the most difficult decisions. His loyalty. His hatred at having to face her across the battlefield back when their allegiance to their vows put them on opposite sides of conflict.

That he would hurt himself first before causing her pain.

She surprised them both when she burrowed deeper in his arms. He came back to live with her. Fought with all he had despite being greatly disadvantaged to keep true to his vows to her.

“I’m sorry you had to leave,” she whispered, holding him tightly, protectively. As he tensed under her, she added with quiet insistence, “I will never judge you for making that choice, Jaime. It was your life.”

“The child be another abomination.”

“ _No_. No, it can’t be. It will not be. It’s half of you.”

His stuttering breath ruffled the top of her hair. “I am so sorry, Jaime. It must be painful having to leave your child.”

“I—I tried, Brienne. I begged her to see sense. That if she breaks her promise there are only two outcomes. The living banding together to get the last of us. Or the dead. The child will not survive if she continues with her mad plan. That—that’s when---when—” Jaime took a deep breath. “She gave the Mountain this look. That’s all it took for him to get ready. A look. It was sickening seeing how she had bonded with a monster. I listened, I felt the sword moving toward me. _I smelled the steel, Brienne_.”

He didn’t finish for he was suddenly gasping for breath. The ordeal of having to remember being so close to death would have sent most men into hysteria. Jaime was close to it. Not knowing what else she could do, Brienne threw drew him into the circle of her arms. He shuddered and gasped against her shoulder, his nails scratching at her jerkin. Unused in having to soothe, let alone being a source of comfort, she scrambled for words to say, rubbed his back up and down.

The air was colder by the time Jaime relaxed against her. His hand touched her cheek, and with a gentle press, told her what he wanted. She gave him her lips, parting them open without any coaxing from him. On and on it went, getting hotter as snow drifted down.

They held each other quietly for a long time, occasionally kissing. The cold was beginning to get to them. With great reluctance, Brienne shifted away and Jaime followed suit. He gathered their cloaks in his arms as she pulled Oathkeeper from the snow with a grunt.

Jaime went up to her, draping the heavy cloak on her shoulders. As she fumbled with her sword belt, his hands suddenly intervened. He buckled it closed first before pulling at the laces of her breeches to tighten them. She blushed. It had not occurred to her to fix them. She marveled at the grace of his one hand securing them, taking note that he had secured his cloak's clasps and buckles with no help.

“As sweet as you look right now, I’d rather you only look like this within our bedchambers,” he said with a small smile. Her pink cheeks stretched his grin.

“We should have the maester look at you, Jaime,” she said as he looped the laces expertly mainly with one hand. She noticed the gleam of his metal hand from the snow and went to pick it up. He frowned at it as she held it toward his wrist.

“A hook would be so much better.” He complained, finally holding out his wrist.

She was gentle in securing it around him. As she did, she thought to raise a rather important subject with him. It might be too soon. But with war, there were things that simply could not wait.

“Jaime. . .I must ask.” She began, finishing with the task. As Jaime tested her work, she cleared her throat. “What. . .what if we have a child?”

She expected him to laugh and dismiss her. She knew it was too soon. He would have to fuck her more times for a child to be created in her. But she heard that sometimes it took only once. He had fucked her more than once already. Her cunt was so full of semen that her pants were soaked.

“I—I know it is unlikely for me to be pregnant right now. But we are not using anything,” she added quickly, believing that her reasons gave her the right to ask, to make sure. “And, um. . .we’re not. . .you’re not. . .I mean,” she said helplessly as a scarlet blush spread across her face, “you’re not pulling out. What will happen, Jaime? Will. . .if we have a child, will it survive?”

“First,” Jaime said, putting his arms around her. “You may very well be pregnant right now. I’ve fucked you several times already. You’re young and strong.”

“But we’re in the middle of the war,” she pointed out. “Jaime. . .I—I will welcome a child with you. I just don’t know. . .I don’t even know if we will survive tomorrow and the next.”

“A child is hardly ideal now, that’s true. But no matter what precautions we take, if it will happen, it will happen, Brienne. We will try to be careful but please don’t ask me to stop fucking you.”

“I won’t.” Her too quick answer made him smile.

“I need you.” He said sincerely, kissing her on the lips softly. “And, don’t laugh. This should be the last thing I do given my history with oathbreaking.”

“You’re a man of honor,” she protested. “Your days of breaking promises are over.”

“So you say. I vow to never disappoint you. I also vow that a child from the two of the greatest warriors in Westeros will survive. There is no other scenario, Brienne,” he declared.

“You mean both of us will make sure it lives to see the sun again,” she thought to make clear. “You’re not the only one who gets to make and keep vows.”

“No.” He took her face in his hands. “We will fight, Brienne. Together.”

“Together,” she agreed.

He kissed her again then took her hand to steer her back to the gates of Winterfell. She suddenly dug her heels in the snow and pulled him back.

“What is it?”

Keeping her eyes on him, she pulled out Oathkeeper, the pommel and the tip of the blade resting on her palms. Holding it like so, she bent a knee toward the ground then laid the sword there.

Looking up at Jaime’s stunned expression and surrounded by ancient faces carved on the trees, she stated the same vows he gave to her in the Great Hall, with a necessary amendment.

“I am yours, my husband. I love you. I will shield your back and give my life for yours and what children we will have, if it comes to that. I will never ask anything that would bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

They stared at each other, Jaime still disbelieving while her expression was defiant. _He's not the only one who can make vows._

Suddenly, a dragon screamed from a distance.

Then the sky lit up with brilliance of all suns. In the harsh light, she saw a strange shine in Jaime’s eyes before he pulled her up and kissed her.

Death surrounded them, but they were finally beginning to live.


	7. A Dream of Spring

Widow’s Wail slashed clean and straight toward Arya. She turned swiftly to the side and the blade sketched the rest of its path down her body before she turned, grabbed Jaime by the left arm to still the sword and swung Needle at his throat. Jaime grunted as he tried to get away but the girl’s small hand had a firm, unyielding grip. He could only swallow in frustration as the steel pressed on the bob of his throat.

“You move too much. Lady Brienne would tell you to never lunge,” Arya said to Jaime as she let him go.

“What the fuck do you want me to do? Wait for you to attack me?” Jaime demanded, a hand on his throat as it checked for any marks, for blood.

Arya just grinned and got into position again. “Lady Brienne said to never go where the attacker leads you.”

Jaime’s shout of frustration caused everyone around to jump and look, wondering if the Kingslayer had gone mad. Then he pointed his sword at Arya. “Let’s see you learn something today, girl.”

They were at it again, the clash and clang of steel filling the courtyard. At the other side, Yohn Royce and Brienne were instructing children, which included Lady Lyanna Mormont. Brienne saw her husband trip Arya, who let out a mighty curse that was not fit for ladies of any station at all. The girl leaped back to her feet, the scrunch in her forehead signaling her annoyance with being bested by the Kingslayer.

Both were equally fast, although Arya was clearly more light of feet and skilled with her left hand. Her strikes were unceasing, causing Jaime to be backed into a corner. Every time he was, he would land a blow in her middle, or kick her. Arya swore loudly that Jaime was going to choke on snow. He laughed and that was when she saw an opening between clashes of steel to shove the tip of Needle toward his throat.

She smirked, enjoying his stunned expression. But his left arm was quick to shove her hand out of the way, the force knocking off her sword. As she cried out, he smacked his golden hand right across her cheek, sending her right to the ground.

“Sorry about that,” he drawled, not sounding sorry at all as she sputtered. “You should remember never to give your attacker a moment. You stop when he’s dead.”

“I can fucking fight in the dark,” Arya declared, touching her cheek gingerly.

“Sure you can,” he said with a shrug. “But you stop.”

For two hours every morning and before nightfall, the courtyard of Winterfell was reserved for training every able-bodied man, woman and child in swordfight and archery. The lessons were rough. After the recruits were taught how to handle a sword properly and basic footwork, they were trained for war. Hardly did any child return home without a bruise or a cut.

A week had passed since the encounter with the Golden Company. Daenerys’ dragons had put the battle to a swift end but the number of the dead were still significant and for many, unnecessary. The intervention of the north and the dragons in the skirmish of the Golden Company against the Lannister forces may have cemented alliances with the latter.  Jon Snow’s decision to involve the Stark armies only had dragged out the battle. Daenerys was still not trusted but there was gratitude for her dragons.

Though still waiting for his ribs to mend and limping on an injured leg, Jon Snow did as he had promised to his sisters and brother. He abdicated his claim to Winterfell, declaring that though he was Ned Stark’s son, he was still a bastard and had no clear claim to the title and the lands that came with it. Sansa was then proclaimed Queen in the North, and her first rule was for Jon to remain the commander of their armies. She also promised to honor the alliance brokered by her brother to the dragon queen. Murmurs still abound regarding this decision but at least, so went the general consensus, Sansa made them part of it.

Making Jon’s true lineage public would lead to more tension and confusion, thus the mutual decision between him and his relatives to keep silent about it for now. Brienne knew that if he had a choice, it would remain a secret. Daenerys had not appreciated the surprise turnover, according to Tyrion. It was Sansa who reminded him that though his queen had the far more superior army, she was still only a guest in Winterfell. A bit more welcome since the battle because of her help, but still only tolerated. The north never forgot.

After lessons with the children, Brienne sought Jaime in the godswood. This had become their place to steal a few moments with each other. It wasn’t very safe but scouts rode around the vicinity on the lookout for the dead, and there were more guards positioned in and around Winterfell, including the godswood. Their jobs got harder each day. The temperatures kept dropping, the snow thicker. The sun had left them to darkness.

Braziers lit the path from the gates to the godswood. In the hours that was supposed be daylight, their flames were bright and reassuring but they would die as the thick mist that told of evening choked Winterfell.

Jaime was already sitting on a rock with his back turned to her when she arrived. He was sharpening his own Valyrian sword. Her heavy footsteps stomped across the snow and he looked up as she stood beside him.

“You took your time,” he remarked, but there was no reproach in his voice. She sat on a boulder next to him. Her eyes were warm as they made out the mess of his hair, the carved shape of his nose and firm jaw. The soft sounds from the hewing blade were reassuring.

“Their training is getting more demanding,” she said, squinting at the gray figures of the trees. “I loved it as a child. But that’s the thing. You have to love it. It’s difficult to teach when they’re forced to take the sword.”

“True enough. But they’ll be grateful for it when the time comes.” Jaime finished and held up the sword but there was no way to scrutinize the finer details of it in the dark. “Ready, wife?”

She nodded excitedly. She always looked forward to this moment.

Swords drawn and seeing each other through the fires, they sparred with abandon. Brienne welcomed the exercise, her tired muscles revived with every slash and clang of their blades at each other. As warriors, they were clearly the finest and the strongest, each with a respective style that complemented the other: his impulse channeled through his precise, determined strikes, her strength pouring into every swing of the sword and her fist. He was faster, but her size was no deterrent, as it could block him when he would try to get away.

He was strong, she would give him that, and her arm was getting sore from deflecting his strikes, but she knew he could do so much more.

So could she.

Distracted by her thoughts for a moment, Jaime swung Widow’s Wail toward her stomach and she leaped. Her eyes widened as her spine slammed against a tree and snow poured on them. She barely managed to deflect his next attack, diving to the left. He only had to swing out his leg to send her flying. She crashed and skidded across the snow with a grunt. Oathkeeper landed in front of her.

“Get up,” Jaime growled. “Now!”

Startled by the sudden sharpness in his tone, she grabbed her sword and jerked back to her feet. She could already feel where in her body large, ugly bruises will be. Less than a second passed after standing up, Jaime took another swing at her. This time she was more prepared, retaliating strongly but not as strong as she knew she could be. Scowling, she swung and thrust, advanced, her eyes blue orbs of light in the dark.

He couldn’t match her strength but he was more wily, had less scruples. He turned from her sword cutting in the air to slam his elbow on her chin. She staggered, surprised. He came at her again, his attacks more vicious and she wondered if he meant to kill her. No, she realized. But he was angry at something. At someone. Her.

Nothing pissed her off more than a sullen attitude. She watched him in the dark, trying to gauge his movements, how he thought. As soon as she realized what he wanted to do to her, she surprised him with a swing of Oathkeeper that cut through the gap between his armor and breeches. As he shouted in surprise, she pulled her arm back then shoved her fist right at his nose.

She had to admit it was very satisfying watching her husband fall on the snowy ground.

“What the hell was that for?” Jaime demanded, sitting up and putting a hand on his nose, feeling for blood.

“What’s wrong with you?” She shot back, making no move to help him up. He muttered under his breath and started getting up. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” he snapped, picking up Widow’s Wail and sheathing it back in the scabbard. He sniffed and rubbed his hand across his nose. “I’ll have to see the maester about this.”

“No. Talk to me.” She said firmly. “Why did you do that to me earlier? Why did you suddenly yell? You tripped me. If there’s anyone angry it should be me.”

Jaime hesitated before going to her. She felt his breath touch her lips.

“I should be sorry,” he said. “But when we fight those monsters you can’t afford to fall, Brienne.” Suddenly, his hand wrapped around her nape and pulled her head down. “Do you understand me?” A pained rawness touched his voice. “You can’t fucking lose. You can’t get tired. You can’t get distracted. All it takes is one moment. One fucking moment and it’s all over.”

Rapid puffs of air from his mouth hit her and his grip on her head was becoming painful from the hairs being pulled. “One moment, Brienne,” he whispered, kissing her at every syllable. “One moment and your vows to me will be shit.”

Then he slumped in her arms, his hold on her crushing and causing their armors to dent. Realizing that he was blaming himself for falling off his horse during the battle against the Golden Company, she embraced him fiercely. “Jaime.”

“You never fucking stop. Never. Or you’re dead. I deserve cruelty but I beg you to spare me from yours.” He sought her mouth again and she kissed him back. Their lips were cool and chapped, frosted with snow but their tongues were warm.

“I love you, Jaime.” She gasped through the hot slide of his tongue on her, the rake of his teeth across her thick lips. “I will always return to you.”

Hand flattening on his armor, she fumbled for the straps as they kissed some more. He was not freeing her from her clothes, both hands cupped on her face and devouring her mouth as if it was sweet and succulent fruit. As her legs began to collapse under her, he suddenly ripped his lips away from her.

“I want to fuck you.”

She nodded, hit with a burst of brazenness that only happened when in his arms and her head hot and muddled from his kisses. She was about to pull him behind the trees when they heard the scouts talking to each other. Jaime chuckled and cursed under his breath and picked up their swords from the ground. Then she took him by his false hand, first, before grabbing hold of him around his wrist and pulled him back toward the gates.

Though there was still much bustling despite the harshening cold, people still took notice of the Kingslayer and his wife running through the crowd, the flames that would touch their faces briefly showing mischief in emerald eyes, or big, crooked teeth bared in an eager smile. Their swords bumped against their hips weaving through the crowd, the gaps between towers. Their chambers were far off and the conflagration of their lust showed signs of being swift but mighty. Brienne, a path found only in her head, guided Jaime through twists and turns before reaching a door.

“Where are we?” Jaime asked as she pushed it open. She found a lamp by the door and lit it up.

Around them were sacks of wheat, oats, barley and other grains, preserved fruit in jars. Brienne looked hungrily at the surprise on his face upon realizing where they were. What she would give to see him in the sun instead of the weak light of a lamp. She put it on a stool, joined by Oathkeeper. The thump of her sword drew his eyes to her just as her nimble fingers loosened the straps of her armor.

With her back turned to him, she didn’t see how his eyes softened at the faint light caressing her body. He gazed at her long-fingered hands, at the scratches on their backs from being cut with a blade. Once her breastplate was off, she was left in her jerkin and other parts of her armor.

She was struggling with the straps of her gardbrace when a hand fell on her shoulder, followed by he rustle of footsteps as Jaime went around to stand in front of her. The golden light showed the lovely brightness of her pink cheeks, and his eyes never left her face as his fingers loosened the straps. His steel hand served more as a brace, a guide, keeping her arm still and raised as he undid the rest of her armor.

Left in her jerkin, breeches and boots, she looked more formidable. Harder. Except for her eyes. Brilliant sapphires untouched by deceit. And her lips. Too full and too thick maybe but could never be kissed enough. She watched him remove the glove from his flesh hand before touching the curve of her mouth with a finger.

It lowered to her throat and she was awkward in arching her neck, puzzlement on her face as she tried to read from his eyes what he wanted from her. She was still being looked at with such intensity. Sometimes it was too much, as if he was memorizing every twitch and freckle on her face as he fucked her. He looked at her as if a man starved during meals, or from across the yard, in full view of everyone else. It made her shake, but not with fear. Made her weak but from a kind of surrender that escaped what little she still knew despite having spent every night since Jaime’s return from the battle with her legs wrapped around his waist.

She swallowed as he found the loop that would undo the other laces in her jerkin. A small smile, playful, knowing, smug, touched his lips, causing that indentation in his cheek to deepen. Mimicking him, she put a finger on this line. The stubble from the beard he was growing tickled.

“How does one have this?” She asked, blushing and fighting to remain casual as he parted her jerkin open. She had to stop touching him to lower her arms as he slid garment off her, leaving her in just a tunic and her breeches.

“What?”

“This line.” She touched it again, only for her hand to fall heavily on his shoulder as he grabbed her by the waist to kiss her on the neck. The lion details of his armor dug and pulled at her nipples under her tunic.

“I don’t know. Does it bother you?” He licked at the sensitive line, kissing her as she shivered. She shook her head, turning to take his lips.

He had a nice, warm pair of lips. Slender. Just slightly chapped. His beard scraped the tender skin of her chin, arousing sensations that had her kissing him harder. She felt for the straps of his armor, one of her legs curving to hitch around his thigh and brushing against a familiar hardness. Still she jumped, slamming hard against a pile of grain and sending one of the sacks falling to the ground. As she blushed in embarrassment, he smirked again and reached for his straps.

She didn’t hesitate to help him this time, biting her lip while she worked one side while he took care of the other. She took the breastplate and put it down next to hers. As she worked on removing the rest of his armor, he brushed kisses up and down her cheek, her neck, cupped her ass to press her close to his cock and gently grinded against her. Her eyes widened, reminded of what it meant and he paused.

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

Another shake of her head. She knew how it felt to kiss now—at least, more than she knew before. But for Jaime to simulate fucking her while still clothed was opening her mind to another facet of desire. A desire that refused to abate and rather fed into the next, where clothes were no hindrance and all that mattered was to want to take. It made her head spin and struggle to see clearly. Then his lips were covering hers again, inviting her to kiss him back, taste him. Her hands were between them.

As the last of his armor fell with a soft clank to the floor, he backed her against the sacks. A hard, bruising kiss crushed her mouth while he yanked her hand down to his cock, telling her by touch alone how he wanted to be fondled. Heat climbing to her face, she shaped her fingers around his cock. She loved doing this. It was a warm sword, one forged through touch.

His steel hand settling on her breast caused her nipple to peak eagerly against the soft linen of her tunic. Her breathing speeding up, she grabbed him by the hair as the kiss deepened.

Tunics flew, boots kicked off and breeches dropped. Lips remained stubbornly fused to each other as they slipped to the floor, hands groping and caressing. As Jaime’s breath warmed her neck before kissing every freckle there, Brienne took his right arm and loosened the ties of his steel hand. He laughed as she tossed it away, her hand closing around the stump.

Soft, frantic breathing flitted from her lips as he mouthed her breasts. In the light of the lamp, she his golden hair was a rich color and even his emerald eyes seemed tinged with the same shade. Every throaty fall of his name from her brought more kisses around her chest, her stomach. His tongue dipping in her belly button had her freezing, for this was the first time. He raked his teeth up and down, across the firm slabs of muscle before a tongue trailed wetly toward her breasts before taking a tight nipple in his mouth.

Her mouth was open, sighing, gasping at his wild, possessive suckles, dragging her nipple again and again away from the aureole, raking his even teeth around it. Her grip on his shoulders could render his bones into power; her heel digging at the middle of his back crushing his spine. Yet there was no faltering in his kisses. They got hungrier, more urgent.

His stump rested against her cheek as he pushed up on one hand to return to her mouth. She welcomed him with a kiss, sweet as it was passionate, turning her head at an angle to meet the arrogant thrusts of his tongue, nibble at his firm lips. He kept a hand on her breasts, pinching and plucking the nipple so it would be tight and as red as the other. As they kissed, he flattened his hips between her thighs, his cock resting right between the spread folds of her cunt, rubbing against her clit at the slightest movement. Her legs were restless, pushing her up to rub against him. His groans were throaty, and may be sounds of pain if not for the lust in his eyes. Her mouth swelled under his unceasing kisses, until just a slide of his tongue had her gasping, her cunt spilling honey.

They fucked with her astride his lap, embracing her so tightly that there was little she could do but just welcome his cock in her cunt. He laughed when she tried to ease some of her weight off him, the blush spreading across her cheeks that of embarrassment and apology because she was more muscular, heavier. He responded by pressing her firmly down, whispering against her lips that the best was to die was fucking a woman whom you not only lived to fuck but was eager to be fucked by you. She shook her head, thinking him ridiculous despite having evidence jammed deep in her cunt. His laugh was soft, a wheezing sound, but in his eyes was the light of mirth.

They were all she could see.

Jaime guided her up and down his cock. His lack of one hand was no hindrance, judging from the smooth, seamless rhythm of their fucking. She should be used to the sound of their slapping flesh when fucking, of the squish emanating from her wet cunt as it struggled to accommodate the depth and width of him. He was big, hung practically like a stallion, as she had come to realize. It didn’t hurt trying to have him, all of him, inside her, but she wondered if she was disappointing him.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, far gone in her desire to be shy. His kisses did things to her. Made her dizzy, her knees weak. Caused her stomach to flutter. It made her cunt swell and wet.

Expecting the slant of his mouth against her, he surprised her by bringing his lips toward her nipple again. From that moment, she was lost. Hands falling behind her to plant firmly on the ground so she could arch and thrust against him, telling him with her body to take more of her. The minor adjustment in her position had her legs spreading wider, but it was the fresh slickness bathing her cunt that pulled Jaime’s cock deeper inside her. As he bumped against her womb, she grunted with rough, dirty pleasure. He was so deep. She swore he could touch her soul.

Her cry was soft, a broken wail as she felt the familiar splintering from within when his cock brushed her a certain way and her cunt squeezed it as if to trap it inside her forever. He grabbed her by the chin, swallowing the rest of her whimpers, his groan loud and befitting the fierce sigil of his house as his semen flooded her. Spent, he helped her lie down on the ground then joined her. They lay facing each other.

They could pass for twins, maybe. Both of them blond, but his locks wavy, thick and golden while hers was always tangled and the color of pale hay. His skin was golden and hers much paler and covered in bruises. And then the obvious differences that marked them as a man, as a woman. But each had wide shoulders and arms defined with muscle. Their thighs were firm and bunched from footwork from sparring. Their bruises had a counterpart on the other. His stump rested on her left palm, his knuckles of his hand brushing her cheek. Her other hand palmed the firm contours of muscle on his chest, felt the scratch and rise of old scars.

Suddenly, she turned on her back, slipping a hand under her head as a cushion from the hard ground. Though his sister’s name had never been mentioned again, she lingered like a ghost. Cersei would force herself into Brienne’s thoughts at whatever time of the day, with increasing frequency. She believed Jaime when he vowed never to betray her with his sister.

They had not spoke of how she sent an army after him and gave Euron Greyjoy free rein to slaughter the lords sworn to him just to get her back. Jaime had been away from the woman he had loved for more than half his life for just a month and two weeks. Could a heart change so swiftly? Could it love as much as it had another?

Her thoughts should be on survival. On vows she must keep. The past had been written. But its ink continued to seep in and stain.

“Am I losing you?” Jaime’s quiet voice reeled her back. “Where did you go?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Talk to me.” He moved closer, his hand falling on her stomach.

She didn’t know how but hated anything between them. “Did it happen instantly?”

“What?”

“When she wanted the Mountain to kill you. Did you stop loving her, then?”

She turned to Jaime, expecting an answer right away. When it didn’t come, the air seemed sucked from the room.

“No,” he replied. He was staring at the ceiling then turned to her. Seeing the despondence in her face, he said, apologetically, “I still loved her, I think. But I realized for the first time she was poison.”

“Do you still love her?”

“No.” The answer was given before she was finished. “I don’t know when I stopped loving her, Brienne. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I have always believed in her. In us. In the world she swore we would live in when she became queen. And then. . .” he glared at the ceiling. “Then she showed me her true colors. Olenna was right. The old bat murdered my son but she was right about Cersei. I just don’t know if despite having seen the truth I’m not infected by her evil.”

_“You have no fucking right to take any of us with you as some penance for what---for the murders you committed in Cersei’s name? If you want to die then you put a sword in your heart.”_

She recalled the worlds with a grimace, realizing he had not answered her.

“I came here to die,” Jaime continued. “But when I saw you—you were the only one fighting for me, ready to kill anyone who was going to hurt me—I realized how undeserving I was. But for the first time since leaving Cersei, I wanted to live. I don’t love her anymore, Brienne. Hard as it is to believe.”

His stump reached for her and he flinched, suddenly confronted with what was no longer there. As he pulled his arm back, she closed her hand around it.

“That’s all I need to know, Jaime.”

“Really?”

She nodded and kissed his maimed arm.

“I don’t think that’s all you should know, wife.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t want to know that I love you?”

At first, she thought she had misheard. His smile, hopeful and beautiful, told her there was nothing wrong with her hearing. She clutched at his stump and he flinched. As she stammered an apology, he grunted in apparent frustration and made his way on top of her, his knees nudging her legs far apart. She flushed as his hard cock pressed against her thigh, at the desire in his eyes.

“Look at me.” His voice was of quiet command. So, she did.

“I love you, Brienne.”

  
******  
In their chambers that night, they had a long, hot bath. Brienne rather enjoyed being the one to hold Jaime against her chest, although he had been insistent on scrubbing her back. Being in the water not only freed them from the grime of sparring and from fucking on the floor of the granaries. They were also reborn, whispering in between kisses and slides of soap on skin how much they loved each other.

Jaime fucked her one more time after the bath. Brienne loved having his heavy body on top of her, their breaths becoming one, their bodies moving as one. They felt like a single entity yet also their own person. As he surged inside her and covered her with kisses, he whispered how he loved her, how much he loved her. She reciprocated with a quaking voice, but it was just as sincere as his own firm declaration.

At some point during the night, when the candles had died and the fires from the brazier had weakened, Brienne snuggled to Jaime’s side of the bed only to find it cold and empty. She opened her eyes, a little cross at being roused.

Jaime was looking out of the window, proudly nude. The beauty of him had some of her annoyance ebb away. Hugging his pillow, she murmured, “What is it? Come back to bed.”

He glanced at her. “Sorry. I couldn’t sleep. I was suddenly thinking.”

But he returned to the bed, hissing upon finding the spot he had vacated was now chilly. She quickly wrapped her arms and legs around him.

“What about?”

“Everything will soon be frozen.” He said. “Soon we won’t be able clear snow from the ground because it will be the ground. The lakes and rivers will become ice.” He pulled the blankets high toward their shoulders. “I remember something Jon mentioned at the Great Hall some time ago. How they were attacked because the river froze and the wights were able to cross.”

No wonder he couldn’t sleep. Now neither could she.

Only water kept the monsters from attacking them. Brienne ran through her mind the bodies of water in the north, at the important systems that kept Winterfell away from Bear Island, from Eastwatch. It was the closest castle to where the Night King’s army was last sighted.

“There should be measures for a quick evacuation,” Jaime continued to say, his arms around her waist nearly crushing her ribs. “The earlier the better.”

“But Winterfell can withstand a siege.”

“A siege against humans, Brienne. Not monsters. Humans can be reasoned with. They can be killed. Not the bloody army heading our way.”

“Lord Bran has not mentioned anything.”

“Not to us. But to Jon and his sisters, most probably. Although if he knew, I’m sure we will be alerted right away.” Jaime sighed. “Jon should at least allow some of my men in these walls else they’ll be first recruits to the army of the dead.”

She nodded slowly. “And we have to keep the Stark children safe.”

Jaime pushed her hair back. “They will be the safest away from here. Somewhere that has lots of water. I don’t think mountains can hold off monsters for long.”

Tarth, she remembered. The ocean would keep them safe. But Tarth was lost. They might have a shot at Dragonstone as it was recently Daenerys’ stronghold before moving north.

“We will have to step up on the training. And you have to convince Sansa that she and her family must leave Winterfell. There’s no denying we will be the first to fall if we don’t plan. We can’t lose another Stark.”

“You mean we have to convince her.”

“She will not listen to me, wife, and I don’t blame her. But she trusts your counsel. She knows you will keep her safe. The only way you can ensure she and her sister and brother live is by taking them far away from here.”

“What about you?” She demanded, not liking where their discussion was going.

“I pledged to fight, Brienne. My place is here.”

“Your place is at my side!”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that? I don’t want us to be apart but if I have to stuff your big body in a wagon that will take you away from here, I’m doing it.” He didn’t flinch from her scowl. “You promised you will live.”

“So did you,” she reminded him. “You promised to come back to me.”

“I will come back to you. I will survive this war.” But he couldn’t look at her directly.

“Jaime, please. Don’t make me leave.” Her heart broke at just the thought of a world without him.

“You made a vow to Catelyn Stark, to Sansa. I will not give you reason to dishonor them.”

“You made a vow to _me_. I will not give you reason to break it.”

“What if you’re pregnant?”

“I can’t be pregnant yet,” she protested. Seven hells. She should never have brought up the subject of a child. Annoyed, she turned away from his embrace with a huff.

Jaime sighed loudly beside her.

“Have you bled yet?” He asked quietly.

Aghast, she kicked him under the blanket and he yelped. “Jaime! I can’t believe you just asked me that!”

“I can fuck you, keep my tongue in cunt, have your taste in my mouth for hours but I can’t ask you about your moonblood?”

“It’s too soon,” she growled, huddling deep under the blanket to hide her redness of her cheeks. “And if you must know, it’s only been less than a month since I last bled. If you think being pregnant will take me away from you, Jaime, think again. I’m not going to raise this child alone.”

“You vowed to keep it safe. To make sure it lives.”

“We made the same vow.”

“You know as well as I do that taking the Starks away from here will ensure their survival longer. That if you’re pregnant, there is no way you’ll be allowed near the battle, Brienne. For once will you get your stubborn head out of your ass and think? It’s true. I don’t want you hurt. _I don’t give a fuck about your vows to the Starks._ What matters to me is keeping you alive and safe. If your vows will keep you alive longer, I will make sure you fulfill them, like it or not.”

“I almost lost you, Jaime. I can’t go through it again. I don’t care if it makes me weak. _Fuck my vows._ I love you. I know what you are. What we are. But I don’t want you hurt. You’re not the only one with tricks, husband. I’m bigger and taller. You’ll need to pay people gold to dump me in a wagon. I can do the same to you on my own.”

“I have no doubt.”

“Jaime, please don’t ask me to leave.”

She cursed under her breath as tears fell from her eyes. Damn it. Since marrying Jaime she had an abundance of tears. As she tried to quiet her sobs, his arms circled her. His lips fell firm and desperate on her shoulder, the tenderness drawing a whimper from her. She turned and hugged him back, her tears hitting his neck and wetting his chest.

“You don’t think it’s hard for me too?” He kissed her on the forehead, stroked her hair.

“Why must everything be so much harder? Why does winter take everything away?”

“You can’t think like that all the time.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Fucking try, Brienne. _For me_.”  


*****  
On the day Bran Stark revealed that the Night King had burned a huge chunk of the Wall with his ice dragon, Winterfell nearly fell apart from the chaos. Sansa and Arya refused to leave, forcing Brienne to knock them out with her fist. Jon entrusted the most faithful soldiers from the Starks, Mormonts and the Knights of the Vale of the take them to safety. The responsibility of their safety were assigned to Brienne and Yohn Royce.

To Brienne he passed over a note and had her read it.

It was a last will and testament. On paper, Jon Snow acknowledged his true lineage and also signed over the leadership of Westeros to the Starks and the children they may have in the future. He didn’t have to emphasize to Brienne how important and dangerous this document was. She was to keep it on her person until it was time to reveal it. Another war, she had thought, catching a glimpse of Jon and Daenerys talking. The dragon queen’s belly had begun to swell.

In the midst of evacuating the elderly and children too young to fight, a small contingent of what remained of the Nightswatch straggled in to Winterfell. The Wildlings at Eastwatch had barely escaped the Night King, only to find their death in Castle Black. Ravens were sent throughout the Seven Kingdoms as the monsters approached but an ice dragon incinerated them, as well as what remained of the Wall. Knowing that fighting them would mean death and membership in the dreaded army, Eddison Tollett ordered the men of the Nightswatch to save themselves and run for Winterfell. It was the only thing left to do.

The walls of Winterfell strained to keep the population within. Lannister armies were finally allowed inside. Shouts echoed in the Great Hall as commanders disagreed over strategy, talking over Jon’s shouts for them to shut up. Bran, who chose to be left behind, was the one who brought things to order by declaring that the in-fighting will not stop the Night King.

As Brienne and the civilians of Winterfell got ready to leave, she did a most unwise thing: she looked for her husband. Duty should have her at the side of the Starks, but she refused to leave without seeing Jaime for that last time. She nearly crashed into him. He had been looking for her too.

Her eyes shone with tears. As did his. She wanted to roar about having to see her husband through fire, for the gods were that cruel. She needed light. She wanted the sun on his golden hair. She wished for the vibrant colors of spring, for greens as vivid as his eyes. How magnificent he must look in his crimson and gold Lannister armor. Powerful. Brave. A man of honor.

She longed to see color. Gold. Emerald. Red. The desire to voice them out was there, causing her throat to swell. Instead, she chose silence and threw herself in his arms. They hugged desperately.

“Come to me as soon as it’s over,” she whispered, kissing him on the neck.

“Stay alive and I will,” he whispered back, taking her face and kissing her fully on the mouth. It was then that she let the tears fall.

“I believe in your honor, Jaime,” she said, drinking up what little of his face she could see. “Never forget that.

He managed to smile. “Hard to forget when there’s only one. You remember to never stop when fighting. All it takes is a moment.”

She nodded and kissed him again.

She would never stop kissing him if not for the vows they had made. It both pleased and shattered her when he cursed her for stopping and kissed her again. She didn’t have the heart to tell him they were just prolonging the inevitable pain. She didn’t want to go.

But she must.

Jaime held her hand as he walked her to the small army waiting for her. Podrick brought her horse to her.

“Take care of your lady for me, Pod,” Jaime told him. “She can protect herself but having a fine warrior such as you to keep her alive will make it easier for me to sleep at night.”

“I will, Ser Jaime. You have my word.”

“I love you,” Jaime said to Brienne as she put her foot into the stirrup. She paused.

“Jaime,” she said, turning away from the horse to look at him. Without another word, she took his hand and pressed it on her armor, on her belly. Shock, joy and worry crossed his face in a matter of seconds.

“How long?” He asked, clearing his throat. His hand firmed on her body.

“Exactly two months since you married me.”

“I see.”

“We made a vow. To--to her." She knew that the child's gender will only be known at birth but she just knew deep in her gut.

“Her.” His eyes misted as he stared at her stomach. “Perhaps after taking away so much, winter will give us something.”

“I would like to believe that.”

“Believe it, Brienne.”

Keeping his hand on her stomach, they shared another kiss. This time, she let herself think that this won’t be the last time. There would be more kisses between them. And children. They had one more reason to survive.

 “I am yours and you are mine. From this day, till the end of my days.” She whispered against his lips. He shuddered against her as she added, "I love you, Jaime." 

She promised to herself never to look back as her horse carried her past the gates of Winterfell. It was a mistake she made when leaving King’s Landing for the first time, ashamed of the tears welling up in her eyes and seen by Jaime. She tried again, her eyes hard at seeing the expanse of snow grayed by darkness. The heavy, fast beating of herthem heart drowned out the crunch of snow under the hoofbeats. She listened to her heart, every beat tied to happier moments with her husband, when winter was still magical. Wind ruffled her hair, the fur on her cloak. Fresh snow would fall, covering the tracks leading her away from Jaime. 

When she was far enough, she risked a look, hoping, praying, that Jaime was not watching her. It would make things so much easier.

The gods truly don’t listen to prayers.

Atop her horse on a hill, she gazed at the lone soldier standing between the gates of Winterfell. She was too far away to make out exactly what the guards were shouting at him but there was no doubt about who the soldier was. The stance. The boldness. Her heart raced.

He raised his hand. In the darkness, his golden hand was the light of a distant star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone!
> 
> By the way, I'm doing a little project called FridayFabFic. Every Friday (well, not the last couple of ones because of work!) I post reviews of JB fanfics I love. Just a warning because these are considered old in the fandom and they're all multi-chapters. So, no one-shots, no drabbles, and yeah, nearly all I like are old fanfics. I think they remain the best that have been written.
> 
> Please check it out!  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ohcaptaintarthister
> 
> This week, I do a double feature, featuring SigilBroken!


	8. The Wars to Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and the Starks in The Vale.
> 
> Character death/s ahead.

Even in summer the journey to the Vale was a challenge. Though the Mountains of the Moon were still far off, the gradual, roughening terrain tested even the strongest and hardiest of horses. Smalls groups were more manageable. A caravan would require a miracle from the Seven—more so now in winter.

The snow was thick, and every ascent meant thinner air. Because of the Stark cargo, much stealth and secrecy were demanded of them. Back roads instead of paved paths were safer, although more arduous. And not just because of the elements.

The battle at Winterfell between the armies of the north and the Golden Company had depleted Cersei’s military might. Daenerys’ dragons decimated the enemy. With Euron’s death, Cersei too lost her maritime strength. But it was a foreign army that she sent to the north. Westerosi lords remained strongly loyal to her, and still scoffed at the idea of monsters and the army of the undead. Little birds were everywhere, ready to whisper and provide information.

Sansa and Arya were displeased with the measures done to force them out of Winterfell. For days, the sisters kept to themselves, cold in their treatment of everyone in the camp, including Brienne. Realizing the full extent of the danger they were in thawed them when a scout, sent ahead of the caravan to be on the lookout, hauled back the dead body of a soldier wearing the colors of House Lefford. One had gotten away. What followed was three days of hard riding, with very little sleep or rest from everyone.

Brienne had been a soldier for most of her life and difficult situations were nothing new to her. But the brutal journey was punishing in her condition. Unable to keep food down, often pale and weakened, afflicted with a slight fever from the cold and the demands forced on her body, she nearly fell off her horse one day. Podrick’s quick reflexes had him throwing himself between her and the ground as she fell.

Sansa ordered her to ride in the carriage for the rest of the way, with Arya taking her place on the horse. Protests went around the camp at her command and she silenced them all with a look.

“Whatever ambush awaits us, having my sister out in the open will be unexpected. She can fight, as you all know. Better than even the most experienced among you. She will take Lady Brienne’s horse. Lady Brienne will ride with me.”

Brienne didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, or to cause delay in their journey but her lady’s command was final. She was also freed of her armor, much to her sadness. Her pregnancy was not showing yet but her body was taking a serious beating from her growing child.

“It is no longer your life and mine and my sister’s you have to protect, Brienne,” Sansa said as they sat facing each other in the carriage. As Brienne’s cheeks heated up despite the chill in her body, the girl continued, “I understand this is not the kind of battle you have trained for. But as women we are taught to make the best of any situation thrown at us. That’s what makes us hardier than men. Men know only of fights and hunts. We face different kinds of battles every day.”

“My lady,” Brienne began, halting as soon as she spoke then deciding to pursue it. Her face turning a more vivid pink, she said, “I—I want you to know that a child was not something Ser Jaime and I planned. He knows of my vows to you and respects them. I swear my child will not compromise my determination to see them through.”

“Brienne,” Sansa suddenly reached across to take her hand. Though her face was drawn and pale from exhaustion, she was getting more beautiful, and looking more like Catelyn. In her eyes was a kindness Brienne had only seen with her departed lady. “Know that not once I doubted your ability to fulfill what you’ve sworn to me. But you should only know that when life insists there is no stopping it. Winter has taken so much from us already. It is rare when it gives a gift.”

She stared in shock at the girl. Had Jaime not spoken nearly of the same? Reminded of him fighting in Winterfell to keep the realm safe, her eyes suddenly became dangerously watery. Sansa was right about the battles women faced every day. Keeping Jaime out of her mind was as draining as being in a battle, lest she let him consume her and cripple her with desolation.

“A child made in love,” Sansa mused, giving her hand a final squeeze before retracting it. “Quite rare, wouldn’t you say?”

Before Brienne could reply, a familiar white horse galloped by the window. She turned grudgingly, expecting to see Arya. Instead, a strange man in peasant garb was on it. She shot a look of alarm at Sansa, who just sighed.

“I beg you to remain here with me, Brienne. My sister has been telling me nothing but awful stories about her time with the Faceless Men. She has been itching to use one of the faces she carries.” She wrinkled her nose as if smelling something bad. “No one will expect my sister to be out in the open as she is now. She can protect herself. Perhaps even all of us.”

 

****

It was close to two weeks before they arrived at The Eyrie. Told ahead of their imminent arrival, Lord Robin Arryn and his court were waiting for them in the High Hall. The spoiled lord refused to give his cousins time to change into clean, presentable clothes. Arya didn’t care but removed the face she had been wearing. Sansa pursed her lips in disapproval before throwing her shoulders back and drawing her spine straight. Her auburn hair was tousled from travel and her blue eyes hooded from lack of comfortable sleep. Her dress and cloak were rumpled but she was every inch the formidable lady from the north as she and Arya approached Robin.

Brienne and Yohn Royce hung back. She would have liked time to rest. Being in the carriage helped her some although eating was still a struggle. She could smell everything, and nothing was pleasant at all. High up in the mountains, she could still smell snow.

“Cousins,” Robin declared, leaning insolently on the arm of his weirwood throne. He was a tall, skinny boy in clothes that looked too big for him although finely stitched and intricately detailed. On his sleeves was the sigil of House Arryn, a falcon. “You took your time.”

“Apologies, my lord,” Sansa replied smoothly. “But though winter is upon us, it is clearly not a reason to see you. My sister and I would like to thank you for giving us sanctuary.”

“As expected. We are family, after all. My late stepfather made sure I never forgot.” The young lord’s face clouded at the mention of Petyr Baelish. Brienne tensed.

None of the Starks would ever elaborate on what exactly happened in the Great Hall, even the soldiers who were present, which included Yohn Royce. All Brienne knew was Littlefinger paid for his schemes. If she knew so little, the lord of the Vale probably knew much less.

“We must work together to protect the realm. My men and my mountains are yours, cousins.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Sansa said, curtsying. “If I may present my sister, Arya. This is the first time you’ve met.”

“I’ve been told of your skill with the sword,” Robin said, brightening up and sitting up straighter. Arya’s face was blank. “Perhaps I have found a worthy sparring partner.”

Everyone’s face was one of exaggerated politeness at his remark. It was well-known that he had no skills with the bow and arrow and was even worse with the sword. He exhausted easily.

“Perhaps,” was Arya’s rejoinder.

“You will join me for supper tonight. There will also be music, much merriment. War had made everything so dreary and your arrival has given us good reason for some urgent entertainment.”

Brienne thought that last thing anyone needed was a celebration. Food had to be preserved. People should be getting their rest.

“We are humbled by your invitation and thank you.” Sansa said.

“You’re welcome. The mountains are not very hospitable to everyone, but I urge you to consider this as your home.” He glanced at Arya. “You and your sister should.”

“It pleases us that you make such an offer.”

He shrugged and with a wave of his hand, said, “You may go.”

As servants led the sisters to their rooms, Sansa caught Brienne’s eye and gave the order. “Lady Brienne is sworn to protect my sister and me and will be needing a room close to us. There is no other arrangement that will be acceptable.” Her voice was firm. “Her squire must also be close by.”

“As you wish, my lady,” bowed the servants. Brienne ignored their openly curious looks at her armor and her face, trying to discern what made her a woman when she was so tall and mannish.

Sansa and Arya were placed in adjoining suites. Unlike the north where things were a lot more austere, here, the furniture was far grander. Cloud-soft carpets kept the feet warm, and four-poster beds decorated with falcons were outfitted with feather mattresses and pillows. The sheets were silk and the blankets thick, luxurious fur.

Brienne’s room was right across from the sisters. Smaller and more modest, it nevertheless came with a bed of silk and furs, a writing desk and a richly-upholstered chair in vivid blue and white falcons. The fireplace, bright with flames eating at beautifully thick logs, gave a toasty warmth to the room.

The servant announced that a meal and a bath will be brought up shortly. Brienne just gave an absent nod, eager to be left alone. When the door closed at last, she divested herself of her armor.

Wearing only her shirt and breeches, she found a looking glass mounted on the wall and looked at herself. She was a wreck. Hair slick from snow, her face white as a sheet. She looked like death. Her heart quickened and panicking, her hands lowered to her stomach, as if to apologize to the little life growing there.

Keeping Jaime out of her mind was probably one of the hardest things she had done. Thinking of him either crippled her or filled her with so much guilt she could choke. Now that she was in the relative safety of the mountains, she let images of him take over her mind.

Would hours of sparring spare him from exhaustion? An army of the undead was relentless. You could and should never stop. A moment, he had told her. That was all it took for vows to be broken. His vows to her kept him alive.

She walked to the window and looked out to the darkness outside. Out there, Jaime was leading his army. Fighting for life. Fighting to return to her side. She should be with him. But she made a promise. Stay alive, he asked of her. And he will come back.

She closed her eyes, hugging her still-flat stomach as she called on the Warrior and the Father to keep him safe. She also prayed it was only her mind playing the most cruel trick on her that she could hear the clash and clang of swords, agonized cries and roars. It was just impossible. Instead, she imagined Jaime on his horse. Golden. Swift. Impulsive as he was courageous. A man of honor. The man she loved. He had survived more monsters than he knew.

_Slay every monster that gets in the way of your vows, Jaime. And I will be here. Waiting._

 

*****  
A month went by. And another. Then another. News from the north was rare and unreliable. It seemed a cloak of silence had fallen on it.

Brienne, with her morning sickness behind her, had resumed some of her activities, which included sparring. It fell on her to give instruction to Robin Arryn too, once it became clear how bereft of any skill he was. He was a most difficult student given his impatience and inability to remember lessons. She longed to yell at the boy but knew her place.

Arya, light on her feet from practice, danced circles around Robin, her hold on Needle firm yet relaxed as she beat at his shield from every possible angle. Robin’s shirt was dark with sweat, despite winter, and his arm raised lower and lower. Fed up with her less than subpar sparring partner, Arya startled him by throwing Needle to the dirt then pulling out her Valyrian dagger in one move. Then she only had to grab his wrist and give it a little shake for his hold on the shield to loosen as she pressed the blade against his throat.

Brienne and Royce, observing from the sidelines with the other men, shot to their feet in alarm and panic. Arya sent her cousin flying in the snow.

“How many fucking times do you have to be told to keep your shield up?” She yelled.

“How dare you address me like that?” Robin yelled, flushed and humiliated at being outwitted by a girl. He did not know of the training she had.

“Listen, you little shit. You’re surrounded by people too afraid of you so they’re polite. They only respect you because of who your parents are. Of the name you have. You’ve not done a single thing to earn their respect. Until you have mine, I’m going to talk to you like the little shit you are. Get up!”

She kicked at the snow, sending the stuff right into his face. “Be the man like your father was! He only had to make one call for everyone to fight. What of you? _What of you?_ ”

The soldiers looked at Yohn Royce, expecting him to give the order. Brienne was nervous too.

But to everyone’s surprise, Robin got to his feet, took his shield and crawled toward his sword. “Your footwork is fucked,” Arya declared. “What if the White Walkers get here? You can’t reason with the undead. Sticking them with the pointy end won’t end them. You have to fight!”

She struck at him and Robin wailed as he fell on his knees. Red-faced and furious, Arya screamed, “Get up! All it takes is a moment and it’s all over!”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Sansa told her later that night. She sat by Arya’s head, cleaning her hair while her sister was in the hot bath. Brienne was seated at the table, nibbling on some crusty, perfectly-salted bread. It was the first food she had eaten in a while that she quite liked, but what pleasure to be had from it was marred by thoughts of the soldiers in the north. Of Jaime. There was still no news.

“Robin is. . .he is a boy of certain weaknesses. It doesn’t mean you had to be that forceful.”

“He gave us sanctuary, but my gratitude has its limits,” Arya insisted, crossing her arms in the water. “How can you believe him to keep us safe when he can’t even keep his shield up?”

“Perhaps the sword is not his strength.”

“He’s not a very smart boy. He just warms the throne all day looking for things to drop through the Moon Door. He’s just as bad as Joffrey.” Brienne looked up from her meal as Arya stilled, embarrassed. Quickly, she turned to Sansa. “I’m sorry.”

Sansa looked at her lap for a moment then shook her head. “It’s alright. You mean nothing by it. Come on, it’s time to rinse your hair.”

“I can’t believe I’m just here,” Arya grumbled as Sansa carefully poured water on her hair. “I can fight. I can kill. I should be out there. In Winterfell.”

“It is too dangerous, my lady.” Brienne reminded her.

“The times are too dangerous for everyone,” Arya pointed out. “Why can I be taken away simply because of my name? But if it’s a matter of a name, why was little Lyanna allowed to stay? She has no experience fighting. I do. She should be in my place.”

“She is of a house sworn to us. We are Starks. It is the way of the world, Arya, unfair as it is.” Sansa said as she toweled her hair.

“And you want me to just accept that? I’m sure Brienne shares what I think.”

Brienne did. She knew she was an invaluable asset in the battlefield but her concern was not in serving the Starks. It was protecting Jaime. The gods know she would be at his side if not for their child. Every day it grew and lived in her was a reminder of a battle she had never been prepared for. That because of the child she could not protect her husband.

It should make her bitter. Instead her feelings swung between joy and dread.

“You know perfectly well why Brienne shouldn’t be anywhere near a battle,” Sansa said, sounding impatient now. She held out a towel for Arya’s modesty as the younger girl stepped out of the tub. “I would not allow it.”

“Brienne,” Arya asked after wrapping herself in a towel. “Did you ever think that. . .that. . .” She surprised them by suddenly blushing.

“What is it, my lady?”

“I apologize if this is too forward. But you don’t think Ser Jaime deliberately got you pregnant to keep you out of the battle, do you?”

“Arya!” Sansa protested, shocked. “Brienne, I’m so sorry.”

But later, as Brienne lay in bed mulling over the question, some things began to click in place.

Except for the days Jaime had been missing in the battle against the Golden Company, he was fucking her day and night. As much as five times in a single night and at least twice before they left the bed in the morning.

And it wasn’t only in the godswood and the granaries where they fucked when not in their chambers. Twice he had taken her against the wall of the Great Hall when they found themselves alone. There was also the map table in the war room, in the stables, in the armory. If she was not on her feet sparring, she was either on her back with her legs spread wide open by Jaime or on her hands and knees being pounded by him. Her lips were often bruised and tingly from the kisses he could not stop taking from her, and her breeches never ceased being damp and sticky from her cunt too full and with semen dripping.

She reasoned their frequent fucks to the thrill of being newlyweds. Now she wondered if Jaime had another agenda.

_“I don’t want you hurt. I don’t give a fuck about your vows to the Starks. What matters to me is keeping you alive and safe. If your vows will keep you alive longer, I will make sure you fulfill them, like it or not.”_

She should be furious. She should ride to Winterfell and give Jaime the beating he deserved. That’s what she would have done before. Instead, his protection made her even more lonely. Love should keep people together, not push them apart. Her heart ached in that strange, mysterious way as she understood the sacrifice he made in forcing her out of the battle. No, she could not be angry. She could only love him more.

And fear for his life.

Just before her mind dropped off to sleep, loud, excited voices exploded in the hall. Fearing they were under attack, she had Oathkeeper pointed when the door burst open. Podrick Payne’s startled dark eyes looked at her.

“My lady, I apologize,” he said, smoothly stepping aside. “But there are riders. From Winterfell.”

 

******  
Summoned suddenly to the High Hall, there was no time for any appropriate dress except for a thick robe thrown over their nightclothes. Brienne buckled her sword belt over her round stomach as she followed the Stark sisters. Guards quickly opened the doors for them.

The High Hall at night was almost as bright as day from the torches hanging on corners, the braziers and the chandelier lit up by what looked like a hundred candles. Brienne winced from the sudden glare, used as she was to black days and blacker nights now.

Robin Arryn was the first she saw for he was seated on his throne, dressed in a thick, blue robe that concealed his nightclothes. Next to him was Royce, surprisingly clad in armor, and the maester Colemon, hunched from interrupted sleep. Brienne looked around, wondering about the riders Podrick had mentioned and that was when she saw them.

Samwell Tarly.

_And Jaime._

“My lady wife,” he said, his eyes brilliant in the haze of the golden light surrounding them. His face was streaked with dirt and on his forehead was a cut that still looked fresh. His hair was a thick shag brushing his shoulders, his beard much thicker. The relief on his face belied his worn appearance. Brienne stared back at him, hoping against hope this was not a dream. Seeing Jaime alive and seemingly well took her breath away.

He held her gaze for a moment, enough for a lovely blush to overwhelm her cheeks and have her stomach fluttering warmly. His eyes warmed then he turned and bowed to the Starks. “Lady Sansa. Lady Arya. I apologize for the lateness of our arrival.”

“Ser Jaime, Maester Sam,” Sansa acknowledged them as she stood beside Brienne. She was trying to mask her surprise too. “What news do you have?”

“Winterfell still stands. Your brother lives and the trust in his command is stronger than ever,” Jaime said, before turning to Robin. “And he has tasked me and Samwell Tarly on a most urgent mission, my lord.”

“What does my bastard cousin want more of? I already shelter his sisters. Except for the mountains, most of my men are in Winterfell already. The Vale has very little protection should your sister send her forces here.” Came his petulant reply.

“King Jon has not forgotten your generosity,” Jaime replied, his eyes suddenly cool and his tone laced with mockery. “He realizes that his request is quite much, but you are a valued and trusted ally, my lord. You and I both know that if the Vale were in a similar situation, the king will not hesitate to provide whatever assistance will be needed.”

Robin gave Royce an exasperated look before turning back to Jaime. “Alright, Kingslayer. What more does he want?”

Brienne bristled at the name but Jaime was a master in keeping his emotions at bay. He looked at Sam, who withdrew a rolled parchment from his pack. He handed it Jaime, who then walked around the Moon Door to put it in Maester Colemon’s hand. Colemen looked at the seal then opened it. After scanning a few lines, he handed it to Robin.

“My lord, such requests are reasonable, if I may say so,” he said as Robin snatched it from him.

“Let me make my own judgement,” he snapped, reading it. Brienne looked at Jaime, her hand climbing to her heart as his gaze shifted toward her on the sly. She longed to hold him in her arms and protect him, kiss the scar on his forehead.

“Food and medicine. Did Winterfell not prepare for winter? For the war?” he demanded, handing the parchment back to Colemon.

“If I may, preparations were made to last for three years,” Sansa interjected. “But we are at war. No matter the preparation, supplies can dwindle drastically depending on the injured. You can not subject a man to further pain when he almost lost his life ensuring that we continue living, my lord.”

“But I have to think of the Vale too,” he pointed out. “There are whispers of Cersei Lannister amassing what forces she still has and we are the first in her list. Of my twenty thousand men there are only half that here. Food has been gathered and stored for the long winter and, should it happen, a war at our door. I have to think of the people and their needs.”

“My lord,” Royce suddenly spoke. “The ties between House Arryn and House Stark go a long way back. When the father and brother of Ned Stark were murdered by the Mad King, it was your father who called on his men for justice be served. House Arryn’s honor is in service, its loyalty to what is right and just. It has no limit.”

“We have more than enough stores, my lord,” Colemon seconded.

“Besides, it is the least we can do given the sacrifices men in the north make even as we speak. They are protecting us, my lord,” Royce added. “Your good father would help without question.”

“But he is not here now, is he?” Robin demanded. “He was my father but Lord Baelish was the true father to me. If he were here, he would urge caution.”

“Lord Baelish’s council was. . .always wise,” Sansa said carefully while Arya hid a smirk. Royce shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “His wisdom would truly be invaluable at this time. But we are that’s left of the world your father and ours built. Honor and loyalty are the foundations they built this world on. It is our duty to ensure they continue.”

“Why is the war not over? What happened to your dragon queen and her dragons?” Robin demanded to Jaime.

Jaime hesitated for a moment then said it:

“The dragon Queen Daenerys was riding was blinded in one eye by a spear thrown by the Night King. She fell to her death.”

The silence in the High Hall was such that the fires seemed like witch’s crackles. Daenerys. _Dead._ Brienne’s hand brushed her stomach as the realization of her death hit too close to home. 

“But only she can ride the dragons,” Arya blurted out. “Does the dragon survive? Are there still dragons?”

The dragons were their best defense against the Night King. Weapons of dragonglass killed them but with an army that was over a hundred thousand, it was not enough. Fire was of absolute necessity. Lives depended on it.

“They survive,” Jaime replied. He and Sam shared a look. “And there is a rider.”

“Only a Targaryen can ride a dragon.” Robin said, confused. “As far as I know, Daenerys is the last Targaryen.”

The silence in the room rivaled a crypt’s. Brienne’s heart banged hard and quick in her chest.

 “There is another,” Jaime said, looking like he was about to deliver bad news. “A son between Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. A son whose existence Ned Stark hid in plain sight as a last vow to his sister. His name is Jon Snow. The man you know as your bastard cousin.”

 

*****

The revelation of Jon Snow’s true lineage called for an emergency council. As riders were sent to all corners of the Vale to summon the lords, servants pulled from sleep hastened with their preparations. It will not be morning until the lords will arrive.

With a few hours’ respite, Jaime and Sam had some time to rest. A cot was quickly installed in Podrick’s room for Sam. Brienne pulled Jaime to her chambers, helping him remove his armor, barking orders at servants for food and a bath as they walked.

He was dead on his feet. Sitting on the bed, he was also struggling to remain upright. But the stubborn lion kept talking and smiling at her. She couldn’t stop herself from doing the latter, unable to believe he was with her. Her heart was full and warm from the rush of unexpected joy. She unstrapped his steel hand, putting it on a chest at the foot of the bed, followed by the protective cloth around his stump. He watched her tenderly as she kissed its scarred surface.

“I don’t think I’m going to feel my backside again. I must have lost it somewhere at The Twins,” he groaned when finally divested of his armor. Brienne proceeded to kneel at his feet to pull at his boots. “What the fuck are you doing, my lady wife?”

“My lord husband is on the verge of a much-needed sleep. I’m trying to make him as comfortable as possible being that the bath is taking its time,” she explained, grunting as she pulled off his left boot. Jaime grinned before taking her hand in his flesh and steel ones. Having missed his touch for so long, she took them both to cradle her face.

“Such is a job for my squire. My wife is to remain at my side so I may hold her and kiss her,” he said as she turned red. “Call for Podrick. My warrior wife kneels for no one.”

So, she did as he asked but kept herself busy ordering the servants where to place the tub, urging them to hurry with the hot water. She shook her head at the plate of a modest chunk of cheese, bread and nuts, firm in her order for the best cuts of meat from the larder for both Jaime and Sam.

Podrick divested Jaime of his boots, placing them by the fire to dry them. He stored the armor properly, next to the blue set Brienne was now having trouble fitting into. Thanking the boy, she saw him off at the door as the servants arrived with more hot water and a platter of the choicest cuts of meat, sweetbread, nuts and wine.

Seeing the hot bath and food revived Jaime enough. When she helped him with his shirt and breeches this time, he was more than willing to be stripped. It was also a way for her to check for any new injuries. Except for the cut on his forehead and some yellowing bruises on his shoulder and hip, he was relatively unscathed.

Her hand was on his chest, feeling his heart. Now that they were completely alone, emotions rolled into her all at once. To Brienne’s shock, her eyes watered, and tears slid down to her cheeks. Jaime stared back at her, unused to her tears. She sniffled and swiped the back of her hand across her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jaime. I’m sorry. You know I’m never like this. But I thought—I thought---” she couldn’t speak it. She knew one must be brave in saying it loud for it to never have any power but she was too overwhelmed.

“I know. I know,” Jaime pulled her into an embrace she had missed so much. She held him tightly, desperate for the feel of his warm, supple skin, the scent emanating from it that was male and only him. Sweat. Steel. Smoke. Sobs caused her to shudder against him as she fought to control the tears that refused to stop.

“I won’t leave this world without seeing your beautiful eyes first,” he whispered, stepping away a little to look at her blotchy face. “Or our child,” he added, his hand falling on her belly. “I made vows, Brienne. I have broken so many but the only vows I intend to see through are those I made to you and our child.”

“I stormed the Seven with prayers every day,” she confessed. “I hated being away from you. Not just because I miss you so much, Jaime. In all battles, I should be at your side.”

He smiled and rested his forehead on hers. “If you can find armor to fit your pregnant belly, then you have a place at my side.”

“Shut up,” she whispered lovingly, pleasure washing over her at his palm flat on her stomach. “I’m not that big yet.”

“On the contrary, my love.” He whispered back, feeling her face go warm. “Let me see you.”

She reluctantly stepped out of his embrace to remove her robe and pull her shift over her head. There was no reason to remain shy when she was no longer a maiden, not to mention the thrill it gave her to accommodate this request.

And opportunities for little joys like this have become so rare they were sinking into the sea of myths.

Brienne finished pulling the shift over her head, dropping it to the floor. She stood nude before Jaime, irradiated in the pink of her blush and the pale gold flames from the fireplace.

Her initial resistance to pregnancy was not over displeasure at having a child. It was that the child kept her from being at Jaime’s side in the war, fighting with him. Protecting him. She never hated the life growing inside her, had loved it in her own, unsure way during the first few weeks.

These days, when finding a free moment, she wondered at what point in her life did she make that crucial turn to end up where she was. Was it one turn or a couple? Was it plenty? Her limitations had been drilled deep at an early age. Not only was a woman but one who was too much of everything that would never satisfy. Her life would be pointless if not for the sword and what came with it. Serving a lord she believed in became the center of her life. To fight and die a noble death. A place often exclusive to men.

Yet she had not only ended up taking up the sword and protecting children of a lady she believed in. Somehow, she married a man whose black reputation and white cloak did not stop other women from dreaming of having him. Now her belly was round with their child.

Her hard, muscular body softened to breasts now round and getting fuller with the milk. They were round, heaving swells now, splashed with freckles. Her nipples had plumped like the ripest pink berries. Her flat, tight stomach was now a firm curve of flesh where her child lived. Her hips have always been wide and were now broader than the span of her shoulders.

A child was not the magical dose for becoming beautiful. In the looking glass she still saw herself yet with a difference she can not name. For the first time in her life, however, she liked how she looked.

Jaime’s dumbfounded expression told he liked how she looked too. Very much, as shown by his cock pointing straight at her.

“You are Warrior, Maiden, Mother.” he breathed.

She bit her lip and gave a slight shake of her head. “You know I am no longer a maiden.”

“You are my Maiden.” He offered his hand. “Join me in the bath, wife.”

He led her into the tub, keeping his hold secure as she climbed in and lowered herself. The warmth of the water drew a groan from her throat. He climbed in behind her.

“I missed you so much,” she confessed as his arms went around her waist and his lips fell on her shoulder.

“I’m here,” he said, catching the tip of her ear between his teeth. “I’m yours.”

 _Yours._ A word they claimed as their very own.

The bath saw more kisses and carnal touches rather than actual scrubbing of dirt from skin. In between hushed declarations of love over the crackling fire were throaty, intimate laughter. He played with her breasts, fill her ear with filthy compliments and the things he would like to do with them, now that they were so wonderfully heavy. When his hand lowered to her cunt under the water, his name was shattered glass from her throat. Her legs opened, welcoming him with a slickness that was warm as a dreamed summer.

She had to press him against the edge of the tub so he will sit still and let her clean him. The lines framing his smile deepened before his head fell back in boisterous laughter when she insisted on soaping the golden hair under his arms.

In bed, their tender, intimate play continued. Brienne smiled happily as Jaime stretched beside her, his leg slipping between hers in a way that had become familiar and one she had missed. Boldly, she put his hand on the round, freckled mound of her pale breast. His grunt of approval laced the open-mouthed kiss they shared.

“I want you,” he rasped against her swollen lips. He covered her throat with more kisses, nibbles, his hand gently pinching her nipple before tracing the upward swell of her belly. As she sighed his name dreamily, she like a most satisfied cat. He licked her from neck to cheek. “Can I take you?”

“Please,” she responded heatedly. Her eyes were naked and limpid with need. She felt no shame. Then she grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him eagerly, filling her mouth with the warm taste of him. She felt him smile through their kiss, his arms closing around her as she turned to push herself up, straddle his lap.

With his emerald eyes intent on her, she took his hand and stump, pressing deep, full kisses on them. She gazed at him as she lowered these on her body, making sure to linger on her breasts, the different textures of his calloused palm and scarred wrist making her nipples bloom tight. Down her waist made her inhale sharply and Jaime to growl her name.

He helped her raise her hips, his expression awed as the muscles of her thighs bulged with her movements. Her fingers clasped his cock, the hard, familiar weight and length of him far more reassuring than she thought was possible. But it was when she was fitted around him, her cunt clutching tightly around it, that she felt a kind of certainty, a truth, maybe. She leaned back, arching as she held on to her ankles and rolled her hips. Jaime’s stump rubbed back and forth on her belly and she felt on fire.

She made feeble, half-protests at his insistence in fucking her again and again. His kisses muffled her admonishments for him to rest, to sleep. She moaned that he needed to be alert and in full possession of his strength for the council meeting earlier. Perhaps he would have listened and taken her more seriously if her cunt was less unyielding of its grasp on his cock, if she was not kissing him ardently, her fingers buried in his wonderfully thick hair.

Jaime drew the furs over their sweaty bodies and pressed against her back. Brienne sighed contentedly, pulling his arm to rest on her belly. She was sleepy yet not very tired despite the vigorous activity. As his breath warmed her nape, she decided to ask him the question.

“Jaime, did you get me pregnant to keep me out of the battle?”

“If I say yes, will you hate me?”

“I can’t hate you,” she said truthfully, waiting for confirmation.

“Then the answer is no,” he said, cuddling closer. “The only reason you’re pregnant so soon is your husband could not resist fucking you. Loving you is like breaking out of the water and being able to breathe.”

There was no stopping the sweet smile spreading across her face.

“Now, my turn,” he kissed her on the shoulder. “I understand secrets, wife. We trust and love each other but we also have duties that the other can’t know unless needed. Did you know about Jon Snow?”

“Yes. But I couldn’t tell you, Jaime. I was sworn to secrecy. It was not supposed to be known until after the war, should we survive.”

He kissed her again, his hold firmer this time. “I understand more than you’ll know, Brienne. I know all about secrets and kings.”

She put her hand over his, remembering his confession in the bath at Harrenhal, and his reason for never telling anyone the truth.

“How is he?” She asked. “With Daenerys? Their child?”

“Broken and angry.” Jaime held her closer. “The dragon was able to protect her from the wights and decimated a good number with his fire. Jon was on Rhaegal and flew her back to Winterfell but she was already dead. Drogon mourns for his mother. It has become dangerous to approach him. Even for Tyrion.”

Brienne sent a silent prayer to the dragon queen and her child. “But her armies. Would they—are they serving Jon?”

“They are. But they’ve made no secret that they only serve him because of her memory. Of what he was to her. Brienne, he told her about his paternity shortly after you left. Tyrion, Varys and I were in the room when he told her and made clear he would never contest her claim to the Iron Throne as long as she would leave Winterfell alone.”

“The North remembers,” she murmured.

“Yes. She promised to never claim Winterfell after the war but made a final demand of him. Marriage. You can imagine how it was in Winterfell when it became known they were aunt and nephew. Tyrion barely prevented a mutiny.”

“Will it end?” She turned to look at him, worry in her eyes. “Or will there be wars to come?”

Jaime’s hand touched her cheek then trailed a finger down her throat, toward her shoulder before spreading his fingers on her belly. “I can’t answer those questions, Brienne.”

“Will Jon’s true identity endanger aid from the Vale?”

“It should not. He is still half a Stark. His command wrestled Winterfell back from the Boltons and renewed the alliance with House Arryn. Robin Arryn may have the best army in Westeros now that the Lannister forces are divided. But being a lone wolf in these times is a guaranteed death sentence. Besides, it’s not as if Jon is interested in the Iron Throne. The boy absolutely wants nothing to do with it.”

“He is Rhaegar’s legitimate heir. There is proof. It is his duty.”

“Do you think people will welcome another Targaryen ruler?”

“Who will rule then?” She asked, suddenly wincing at the strange sensation from her stomach. “When we’ve beaten the White Walkers, should we survive, what happens to the Seven Kingdoms? Who will rule, Jaime— _oh gods._ ”

Jaime gasped too, his hand leaving her stomach. “What the fuck was that?”

“I—I don’t know. . .” Brienne gingerly sat up, staring at her stomach. The flutters and tingles were sharp but not painful. No. Just something that demanded attention. Jaime sat up too.

Something. . . _someone_ demanding attention.

“I’ll get the maester,” he said, turning to leave the bed when she suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder to haul him back to her side.

“No. Jaime, look.” She grabbed his hand. As the warmth of him settled on her stomach, the flutters intensified. She smiled, expecting him to understand what was going on. Instead, he was staring at her stomach with an expression akin to horror.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“No!” She exclaimed, laughing. “Jaime, our baby is moving.”

 

 

******

“To give aid to the north, compromising our own food reserves, the north which is now ruled by a Targaryen, that is the issue,” Robin Arryn insisted from the head of the table. “My father went to war against a Targaryen king. Now you wish for me to support another?”

He addressed this to Jaime, who was seated on the other end of the long table. Beside him was Sam, whose eyes were round with what looked like confusion and exasperation.

Representatives from Houses Waynwood, Corbray, Egen, Hunter and Royce sat on the chairs between him and Robin. They have yet to speak, appearing content to witness the verbal sparring between Jaime Lannister and Robin Arryn—or rather the beatdown the latter was receiving. Sansa was seated at a High Chair, with Brienne and Podrick flanking her.

“You are already allied with House Targaryen, when it was under Daenerys. How should it be any different under Jon Snow?” Jaime pointed out.

“Jon Snow was King in the North. House Targaryen was subject to him. As is this house and my vassals. But it is a different matter to be subject to what is now House Targaryen. What would the histories say of me?”

“That’s where we’re headed the longer we sit here debating over something that should be instinctive and done without question. You, my lord, are wasting precious time over a technicality that only you can see.”

“You don’t understand my position—”

“Perfectly, as a matter of fact.”

Robin’s face was contemptuous at how Jaime dared to interrupt him. Brienne recognized the look on his face. He was ready to cut the boy into shreds one word at a time.

“Jon Snow is king for all intents and purposes right now given his marriage to Daenerys. But this was an alliance made to ensure that the queen will keep away from Winterfell. Now, she’s dead. And he has no interest in being king of any place. All he wishes is to protect the realm. While you sit in your high throne protected by your mountains and men more loyal to the memory of your father than you, boys and girls your age and younger are giving their lives for all of us in this room. _For you._ They fight with fear, barely able to grip their swords despite their training, but they still choose to fight, these boys who can not even dream half of the privilege you continue to enjoy. They fight without question, only that they must protect life. Do you know how it is to fight, my lord? Do you know how to think of someone besides yourself?”

“That’s enough, Ser Jaime.” Yohn Royce interjected.

“No. You’re supposed to guide this boy. Steer him towards wisdom and at least have him learn the proper way of holding the sword. Instead you’ve been sycophants, providing him with mists rather than clarity. I’m here on a mission from Jon Snow. Secure food supplies and medicines. A small exchange for one thousand lives lost since this war began. Knights from the Vale, from my armies, Unsullied, Dothraki, Mormonts, Karstarks, Cerwyns, Daenerys Targaryen.” He stared at Robin with distaste. “Our numbers are dwindling fast in struggling to ensure the White Walkers never make it here and you hesitate giving us aid?”

“We are pledged to House Stark, my lord,” Anya Waynwood told Robin. “Though this Jon Snow is actually Targaryen, he is still a Stark. Now is not the time for divided Houses. Our loyalty is to survival. The North remembers. Should we refuse then we will have a war at our door.”

“Is that a promise if I refuse?” Robin demanded to Jaime.

“I can’t make any oaths being that I’m quite fond of breaking them,” Jaime retorted.

“Indeed. You break them and commit murder.” Robin snapped. “Your family murdered my father.”

 “I wish to speak,” Sansa announced, rising to her feet before anyone could refuse her. She addressed the room.

“Lord Arryn, your father was murdered not by Lannisters but by the man you believe to be the truer father than the one who raised you. Petyr Baelish set Lannister and Stark against each other so he would become the king of the ashes.” As Robin began to protest, she continued calmly, “I know because he confessed it to me, my sister and my brother. And to Lord Yohn Royce. He had your mother poison your father. He then murdered her so he could take control of the Vale through you. He sent the cutthroat that tried to kill Bran. You refuse to give aid not to protect your people, Lord Arryn. You don’t care about them. You refuse because of the man our cousin sent on this mission. Ser Jaime did break his vows to protect Aerys but Aerys broke his vows to the people long before he had our grandfather and uncle burned alive. Ser Jaime’s sword ended the war.”

She took her skirt and gracefully climbed down the steps to approach Robin at the end of the table. “If our presence is such a hardship to you, given that we ask and ask, state your piece now. Give the order for us to leave. We never wanted to leave Winterfell. But you should know that this betrayal will not be forgotten. Wherever your stepfather is, he will look upon you so proudly as you are continuing his legacy of turning family against each other. Winter has come to House Stark a long time ago.” Her eyes were steely. “We will survive.”

 

*****  
Jaime and Sam will not spend another night due to the urgency of their mission. Brienne understood. To make things easier, she could have stayed within her chambers, holding the pillow still fresh with his scent. But she never made anything easy.

“Another goodbye,” he said as they stood next to his mount. He glanced at Sam struggling to climb up his horse. They were leaving with an additional five hundred men and several pack horses laden with food and medicines. Turning back to her, he saw her absently running a hand on the saddle.

“Yes,” she agreed, giving him the sapphire eyes no sweet dream could capture truly. “It seems this is how our marriage is.”

“For now.” He said, stepping close until his breastplate brushed her belly. Brienne watched his gloved hand curve against her stomach. Their baby was kicking, it felt. Moving everywhere inside her. “Do you know how thinking of you and our child keeps me alive?”

“It doesn’t hurt you that we’re far away?” She asked, wrapping her hand around his to keep it on her longer.

“It does,” he admitted. “But they also keep me warm. Every monster that falls brings me closer to you. To this.” He surprised her by suddenly kissing her on the stomach. She smiled, cradling his head there, loving the smooth texture of his hair. He straightened up and her hands went to his shoulders.

“She moves.” He said, gazing at her stomach before giving her another smile. “I will see the end of this war, Brienne. For you and our child. You are all that matter.”

They kissed with longing and sadness. Jaime took her face in his hands, rubbing his lips on her tears before finally releasing her. Another kiss was given on her hand before he climbed up on his horse.

“You make me forget of darkness,” he said, giving her a smile that filled her heart with hope.

“You are my light,” she told him. Unable to stop herself, she grabbed his hand and kissed it. She clutched it one last time before nodding. “You must go. You have a long journey ahead of you.”

The days following his departure flowed into the next month, and the next then more. The isolation in the Vale could drive one mad unless there were time-consuming pursuits. Brienne worked on mastering the longbow then moved on to the morning star. She refused to lose herself to more tears when in bed although she refused to have the sheets changed. Not even when Jaime’s scent had faded.

Robin had taken to his chambers for days after Sansa’s revelation. His worship and love of Petyr was deeper than anyone thought and so they let him be. When he emerged at last, he asked Arya to spar with him.

Yohn Royce and Arya took over Robin’s training. The boy showed some improvement with his footwork but his grip on the sword remained weak and his reflexes too slow. Royce told Sansa and Brienne that he could benefit squiring but which lord? Everyone was at war. Jon Snow and Jaime Lannister were the best options, but he was a liability right now.

A raven came from Winterfell on Brienne’s seventh month of pregnancy. It did not bear the best news. Winterfell had fallen and they were still accounting the dead. The Night King had been slain, and with it his armies. Still, they were advised to remain in the Vale because the terrain was impassable.

Soon after, another raven came. From King’s Landing. A summons from Cersei Lannister for the Starks and Robin Arryn to kneel before her or face her wrath. Never did anyone in the Vale think that they would ever be grateful for winter. But whatever the queen wanted, she would get. Nothing would stop her when she wanted something more than her next breath.

For Brienne, it was like waiting for death. They sent a note with the raven going back to Winterfell but there was still no response two months later. Meanwhile, Cersei was amassing her southern forces to start taking back the lands she believed were hers. Devastation or war seemed to be the only choice. It did not help that Robin would rather bend the knee and was pressing his cousins to the same. He was the only one to voice out that the silence from Winterfell was strange. When Cersei’s forces arrive, who will come for them?

No amount of desperate reminding from Sansa or his council about the atrocities Cersei had done could sway him from the decision to bend the knee. Brienne could not really bring herself to care. Her thoughts were on Winterfell and Jaime. 

Sansa and Arya would discuss with Brienne their options at night. Given where Robin’s allegiance was likely to swing, the longer they stayed in the Vale, the more in danger they were. The silence of Winterfell made them suspicious that perhaps things were not as well as the scroll claimed. Yohn Royce and Anya Waynwood were frustrated with their lord, feeling that they too would be in danger if they continued to oppose him.

A plan was made. Since this winter would not abate and news from the south grew dire, they had no choice but to escape. They could not take a lot of men with them, only the most loyal.

Everything was ready. They had fresh horses and had hoarded supplies for the long journey back to Winterfell when the birthing pains began.

 

*****  
Brienne screamed.

As a warrior, she was used to pain. A cut on her face, her middle. Falling from her horse. Broken bones. Her body was used to abuse. But bringing a child into the world involved different kinds of pain that grew worse by the hour. Not to mention the grief in her heart.

It was like a thousand knives twisting and slowly tearing into her. Her screams were of pain and anguish. Pain at the birth of her child. Anguish over Jaime’s possible death. She had refused to be broken by the silence from Winterfell, believing that in putting the much-damaged north back together was far more important than providing them with news. Some of her will had begun to die as each day passed with still no word. It was a fight to live because her child must live. She owed Jaime that much.

“How much longer must she suffer?” Sansa demanded to Colemon as Brienne’s head fell heavily on her shoulder. She sat beside her knight, encouraging and comforting her. She pressed a cool damp cloth on her sweaty forehead.

“It will be a while, my lady,” Colemon, looking at Brienne sympathetically.

“She’s been doing this for hours!” Sansa protested.

“Such is the way of birth, my lady.” Colemon said. “There is no way to rush it. Podrick,” he to the squire standing by the door, the helplessness on his face vanishing at being called into service. “I need more hot water and cloth for Lady Brienne. Clean, starched cloths, don’t forget. Hurry.”

“I want Jaime,” Brienne whispered against Sansa’s shoulder, tears in her eyes.

“We sent a raven, don’t worry,” Sansa assured her. Brienne found some comfort in that until the lancing pain returned to her body. Once again, she screamed.

She had no idea how long she screamed. They were intermittent, but the pain never left her body. As the arrival of her baby approached, the contractions were faster and sharper, and what felt like a thousand knives imbedded and gutting her like a fish grew into several armories’ worth. No weapon, no skill, nothing had prepared her for the Seven Hells that was childbirth. Her screams echoed throughout the castle.

Pain was the only sense she knew. The rest of the world flitted away. She heard the dull drone of Colemon’s voice encouraging her to push, Sansa’s face, though close, was a blur.

_She could feel her spine on the verge of breaking._

“My lady!” Colemon’s voice was suddenly clear and very loud. “There’s the head! You must push!”

Push? Was he mad? Then Sansa was whispering to her, and something about what she said had Brienne looking at her. Did she say Jaime’s name? Was Jaime coming?

As her body rolled and her insides seemed to rebel in anger at what she was putting it through, she thought she saw him walking through the door. But it was not battle-worn Jaime. He was clean. Golden as the sun. Beautiful. His emerald eyes looked at her with love.

“Jaime,” she wept before turning away to give that one push asked of her still. As if her pain was not yet enough. A grunt and a scream and she felt something leave her body.

“A boy, my lady.” Announced Maester Colemon as small, strong cries split the air. She sank back against the pillows, glad for it to be over when he announced again. “Lady Brienne. Not yet. There is another.”

Sansa squealed and Brienne, confused, growled, “What do you mean another?”

Her answer came shortly. A girl.

Just when she thought there would be no more tears, they flowed again. But they were of joy. Of deep, immeasurable, heart-wrenching joy. Sansa watched with her hands clasped together, smiling through her tears as well at the blond bundles in Brienne’s arms.

Their hair was already surprisingly thick and whiter and purer than snow. The girl’s eyes were the same sapphire blues as hers. The boy had Jaime’s emerald eyes. Brienne looked at them hungrily, still shaken by the surprise of birthing two babies. And they were small. Smaller and more fragile than anything she had held.

“They’re beautiful, Brienne,” Sansa said softly. “Do you have names already?”

“With your permission, my lady,” Brienne said, smiling wearily at the angel in her arms. “I would like to name her Catelyn.” She turned to the girl, her expression hopeful.

Sansa smiled. “I would be honored, Brienne. Thank you. And for the boy?”

Brienne kissed him on the forehead, a lurch in her heart as she looked in his eyes, his pale hair. Reminding her of one man lost to her for good and the other she still hoped winter had not taken.

“Selwyn.”

 

*****  
It was four days of heaven. Brienne poured her love to the children she and Jaime had made. She marveled at their small but strong fists, specially of little Catelyn’s. She seemed a serious baby, though her eyes never stopped sparkling. Selwyn was almost never without a smile—a smile marked by twin lines like his father’s. 

The babies brought peace in the rising tension within the castle walls. Robin visited her with gifts—handmade falcons in crystal, each with sapphire and emerald eyes. Sansa gave her clothes embroidered with her expert hand. Arya’s visit had Brienne laughing—she offered to teach the twins to spar as soon as they were walking. “I know no other skill except with a sword and donning faces,” she said with a shrug as Selwyn caught her thumb in his fist.

Brienne didn’t know what to make of that, truth be told.

Podrick never strayed far from her side. He had looked terrified of the children at first because of their size but he was quick to learn how to hold them—but only one at time. He still didn’t trust himself to drop one of the babies if he had to hold both at the same time.

Yohn Royce even came for a visit.

But what Brienne craved most of all was news from Winterfell. She needed to know. As she nursed her children, she scanned the sky for a raven.

One finally came and bore news. But it was not the one they had been hoping for.

_The lion will roar over the carcasses of falcons and wolves._

_Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms_

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is supposedly the last chapter but it turned out to be much longer than I thought it would be. I realized there was still some plot to cover when I first finished writing it. That's not fun, since it was at least twenty pages already.
> 
> I'm not great with long updates. Aside from the frequency of my typo errors (my laptop's keyboard seems to require aurochs force to get those letters down!), there's the tendency, for me when writing, for the story to drag. So what you've just read is not the best I've written. I decided to cut the chapter into three so there will plot points that can be fixed/settled, and one more that can be enriched.
> 
> I hope this decision doesn't bite me in the ass. Halfway in the original chapter, Brienne was supposed to do something more that is just as bad-ass as giving birth. Instead, that's left for the next chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys! I hope you don't mind the two extra chapters. 
> 
> ****
> 
> ON ROBIN: I didn't want to make Robin Arryn smart, because he's not. He's a spoiled, unstable asshole and reminds me a bit of Joffrey. I don't think as a character he's all evil but definitely not the smartest. However, this is a boy who lost his parents at an early age and was coddled by his mother, who wasn't very mentally stable herself. He does agree to the request of Jon Snow but only after being pressed to do so. His request for Arya to spar with him after being told about Petyr is an attempt to make him a little likeable but as you can see, he still deserves some ass-kicking. 
> 
> ON JON'S MARRIAGE TO DANY: If you remember, the reason Jon Snow initially avoided sex was because he didn't want to sire bastards. This is definitely one of his reasons for marrying Dany. And I think he does love her, despite their, uh, connection. I think I understand where Dany's entitlement about being the next on the Iron Throne comes from but as a reader of the books and a show watcher, I'm not a fan. She has a great character arc but I can't discount the possibility she will go mad at some point. When Jon marries her in order to make sure she doesn't take Winterfell after the war, I'm calling back to that episode in the Season 6 finale where Yara agrees to ally the Ironborn to Dany just as long as they can govern the Iron Islands themselves. I imagine Jon asks her to keep out of Winterfell and she agrees--so they're spared from the war that Bran thought will happen a few chapters ago. 
> 
> The war instead that is coming will be from Cersei Lannister. She has not appeared in the story so far. I can't tell you if she does appear--that's a spoiler! LOL. But I want an ending that's more sure rather than open-ended. Going back to the show, I remember the episode where Tyrion and Cersei are in her room and he admonishes her for "the war you've brought upon our door," or something like that. 
> 
> I don't know if Cersei is the type to write raven scrolls herself. I mean, I know she can write but as Queen, she will have someone else do it. But as I've never mentioned Qyburn here, I thought to use a character that's only been mentioned throughout the story and have her do something. Hence, the scroll. 
> 
> When Arya and Sansa start making plans to leave the Vale, they did not forget Brienne was pregnant. They were delayed because of efforts to convince Robin to re-think his decision, not to mention the winter situation and yes, their pregnant knight. I assume they thought they still had some time before the birth to escape but I wonder if they realized how difficult the journey would be on someone who's about to give birth. Brienne would have likely insisted that she's stronger than she looks.


	9. Winter's Roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A desperate escape in the middle of the night on terrain made more treacherous by winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some very WILD interpretations, people! 
> 
> ****  
> More deaths. Two simply mentioned and one shown.

Hoofbeats thundered across the thick, snowy expanse, two columns moving with rough synchronicity despite the poor light from the torches. Trusted scouts led the small group, with horses ridden by Yohn Royce and Arya Stark following closely behind. Several layers of horsemen into the line was the carriage holding Sansa Stark, Lady Brienne and her children. More horsemen followed them.

Brienne refused to look out the window, not because she will see only darkness but feeling the sharp gust of winter whipping at her face would show just fast they were traveling. The night had yet to run out of trials for them. Everything was just beginning.

After the contents of Cersei’s scroll was known and the vassals of the Vale once again called before Robin Arryn, Sansa acted swiftly. First, she dispatched Podrick to Yohn Royce, to alert the knight and whatever ally he could scrounge up at short notice of the escape. Next, she ordered Arya to be on the lookout for any guard Robin will be sending to their chambers, presumably to keep them in the High Hall and throw them down the Moon Door as proof of loyalty to Cersei. “Do with them as needed,” was all Sansa had to tell Arya before the latter got her sword and Valyrian dagger ready. She was not seen again until it was time to leave.

Not only were the babies too young, and too fragile to move and on such a perilous journey. Brienne had no problem feeding her babies but she was still bleeding, as expected after giving birth. Colemon advised against moving mother and children and subjecting them to the cruelty of the open winter air and the mountainous terrain. Sansa flatly told the maester that he could stay if he liked and be executed by The Mountain because he had assisted in the birth of Jaime Lannister’s children. He didn’t need further convincing and hastened to pack all that he could carry.

Their party was all the men they brought from Winterfell, led by Royce, as well as Anya Waynwood and a small handful of her trusted soldiers. White of hair and her face already heavily-lined, Sansa invited her to ride in the carriage with them. She declined and stunned everyone with how swiftly she got on a horse that was fourteen hands high without any boosting. She was leading the charge of Waynwood men on a swift, very spirited horse.

The rocking and lurching movements of the carriage through the uneven, sloping terrain had Brienne holding Catelyn to her breast a little tighter. Sansa held Selwyn, and her face was pale from panic at holding a baby so small, as well as the uncertain path before them. Winterfell had fallen but there were people alive. They might be able to help.

They may be waking into a trap. Or certain death. There was also the slim chance of hope. Brienne kissed Catelyn’s forehead, wondering if the Seven were sick hearing another of her prayers. But to stay in the Eyrie was to wait for death. There was also the traitor in their midst. How else would Cersei know about the presence of Sansa and Arya?

“We have to slow down,” Brienne told Sansa as the carriage leaped over the snow before landing hard. They cried out, firming their grips on the babies. “Someone will get hurt and we’ll have no choice but to stop.”

“We can’t. We have to put as many leagues between us and the Eyrie.” Sansa insisted although her voice was trembling.

But Brienne was adamant. “No. Tell the men to slow down. We don’t even know what state the carriage is in.” They were in the same carriage taken from Winterfell and to her knowledge, had not been checked nor repaired since their arrival. With towns deserted for the winter due to the scarcity of food and the threat of White Walkers, there was no one to turn to for help in any way.

“Let us keep this pace for the night and slow down come morning,” Sansa pleaded. “Brienne, we can’t. I’m sorry.”

Brienne pressed her face against her daughter’s neck in despair. She knew Sansa was right. But they were courting disaster traveling as they were. In the dark. In the snow.

Then Selwyn started to cry.

The heaviness in her breasts told her why. Catelyn began whimpering too, her little fists already grabbing them. As Brienne began loosening the laces of her jerkin with one hand, she spoke firmly:

“We’re stopping.” She declared, her sapphire eyes cool, blue fire. She knocked her huge fist on the small partition window. With Sansa just looking on helplessly, she barked at the driver as it opened, “We need to stop. That’s an order.”

Selwyn’s wails pierced through the night until their caravan came to a stop. Sansa was careful in putting Selwyn in Brienne’s other arm. Catelyn’s lips were already around her nipple, her suckles soft and wet. Selwyn’s cries instantly quieted once his mouth found the tip of her breast.

There was a tap on the door before it opened. Even in the dark, the frown in Yohn Royce’s face was as clear as if it was midday. Sansa cried out, hurriedly trying to cover Brienne and the knight immediately looked away.

“Lady Brienne,” he coughed. “This is most unwise.”

“My children are newly-born. There is no way to feed them properly and hold them securely with all the jostling. You can leave me, if you wish.”

When the knight dared to glance at her, her face was pursed with resolution. She never made any declarations she wished to see through.

“We won’t be long,” Sansa said. “We have been traveling for hours. Surely we have some time in our hands.”

“I’ll have scouts scope the land to ensure we’re not followed. But we can not stop for long.” Royce closed the door and they heard him walk away, giving orders to secure the area.

Sansa watched the twins feed from Brienne. “They seem strong.”

“One must hope,” she remarked, a fresh surge of love in her heart as she gazed at her children.

Brienne closed her eyes, finding some peace. She felt more weary than from an unforgiving sparring session, or a brutal, dirty fight. Her bones refused to hold her up and her muscles were mush. At least when she fought The Hound, it was her pride more than her body that had been injured. Being in labor for close to eighteen hours was a battle only few could survive.

And she was grateful with every fiber of her being that she was alive to hold her babies and nurse them right from her breasts. She refused them to be subjected to a wet nurse, unable to understand why her children had to have another woman’s milk when her once-meager breasts overflowed with it. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring right into Selwyn’s soft, emerald gaze.

It was too soon to tell which of their parents they took after, although their jewel-colored eyes told who had provided them. A pale cap of hair could still turn golden. Freckles could also decorate smooth skin later. But their little mouths latched firmly around her nipples, and she would like to think it meant her children would be much braver than their parents in facing curveballs. She and Jaime were strong warriors, who took their vows to heart. She hoped some of that continued in their children. They were still very fragile but every day, she felt the increasing heft of their little, squirming bodies.

She and Jaime had created the two most perfect things that could come into being. Living proof of their love and vows to each other. Gifts from winter, as Jaime urged her to think of before they parted for the first time in Winterfell. She thought herself blessed to have captured the heart of a lion. Selwyn and Catelyn were the best of things she never thought to hope for. Her babies. Totally dependent on her for their lives right now, she thought, feeling some of the weight from her breasts eased as they suckled the milk from her. Harrowing yet empowering. She never had a mother but a septa who took delight in shredding her heart.

Disappointments were the signposts of her life. Until Jaime. Jaime who saw her as both woman and knight, charging her with the quest to rescue a maiden and providing her with all the instruments necessary starting with Oathkeeper. If she were to map her life, all the turns she had taken rather than the expected paths were due to Jaime. He had helped her realize to become someone she never thought she could be—a woman unlike no other. Oathkeeper fueled her desire for honor, for both of them, heedless of her gender. That was the first stirring. In his arms, she bloomed into one. Now holding their babies, listening and feeling them feed from her, she felt she had truly become one at last.

She knew she shouldn’t but they would always be at the back of her mind. Her father. Wishing he was still alive to see his grandchildren. Lady Catelyn. To see her children safe and now ruling Winterfell.

She ignored the grumblings outside, the impatient snorts of horses as they kicked at the snow, the raised voices. She tried not to listen to the guards surrounding the carriage, the scouts reporting on the path ahead and how they appeared to have been unfollowed. She knew the danger they were in. Their journey began mere hours ago. Not enough time to cover a distance that would have whatever army after consign them to winter and its elements.

An icy air pervaded the carriage but she knew this was only a whisper. This was not the cold of Winterfell. This was gentle.

 

******

They traveled all night. Brienne hoped for the babies to remain asleep until they could get some actual rest because she couldn’t afford to risk everyone’s lives to feed them again. Sansa relieved her of Catelyn and placed Selwyn in the small, single cradle they managed to squeeze inside the tight space of the carriage. Brienne promised to sleep for only a short while.

Almost as soon as she closed her eyes, shouts erupted from outside. Brienne quickly unsheathed Oathkeeper while Sansa shrank back in the corner, clutching Catelyn and one arm flung futilely over Selwyn.

“Archers!” Yohn Royce was shouting. Brienne and Sansa exchanged disbelieving looks. Then she opened the door, only to see Arya charging toward them.

“Get back inside!” She shouted as the horse pulled abreast of them. Soldiers surrounded the carriage now, on all sides. Brienne heard the rattle of shields held by hands either trembling from cold or fear. Maybe it was both.

“Who’s after us?” Sansa asked as Brienne barred the carriage in frustration.

“She didn’t say.” Brienne muttered, hating herself. Stopping for that half hour had been their death warrant.

“Be quiet,” Arya ordered them from outside.

“Cersei must have us watched even before we left,” Sansa whispered.

It was like winter had seized her heart. Or maybe it was fear. “She was just waiting for us,” she agreed, looking at her children and wondering how to ask for their forgiveness. And Jaime’s wherever he was.

“Riders approaching!” Someone yelled.

“Keep your position!” Royce bellowed.

“There it is again, ser!” Another soldier shouted. “Fire in the sky!”

Sansa, who was beginning to cry, declared shakily, “She doesn’t know of you, Brienne. I will turn myself over to her. It’s me she wants. Save yourself and your babies. Keep my sister safe.”

“No.” Brienne protested vehemently. “You can not ask me of this.”

“Brienne, listen to me!” She wailed. “I swore never to ask any service of you that would mean dishonor—”

“It is not dishonor—”

“It is to _me_ ,” she sobbed, her cheeks shiny with tears. “I don’t want anyone dying for me. Least of all children. Promise me you will remain alive. If Ser Jaime can demand it of you, then I order you to keep yourself alive, your babies and Arya.”

Brienne knew she should protest but Sansa was right. She had to think of her children. It was not only her life at stake now.

“Swear to me,” Sansa quietly demanded.

 Brienne nodded and it seemed good enough to Sansa. She threw the door open, inciting shouts from the soldiers, the loudest from Arya and Royce. The light from their flaming arrows seemed stolen from the sun, their heat enough to make them forget of the winter around them for a moment.

Sansa started unbarring the door when they heard a strange rumble. “Wait,” Brienne whispered and Sansa paused, confirming she heard it too. There. That sound. Like the ground shaking but there was no such thing. It seemed to come from somewhere near but from where?

“Lady Sansa—” Brienne began as the sound passed but the girl gave her a serene smile made tragically beautiful by the shimmer of tears from her eyes.

“It is done, Lady Brienne. You have served well. I pray the Light of the Seven will always be upon you and your family.”

Sansa climbed down the carriage and stepped on the snow. A hand pushed back the hood of her cloak to reveal her auburn hair and pale, tear-streaked face. Royce immediately galloped toward her.

“Lady Sansa, you must—“he started to say but was stopped by the resolve on her young face.

“I will turn myself over to Cersei Lannister,” she announced. “As my final order, you will keep my sister and Lady Brienne safe and unharmed. And you are to never come after me. You must leave and never look back.”

“No!”Arya leaped off her horse and ran toward her. She tripped but managed to keep upright. “Sansa, no—”

She threw herself in her sister’s arms and they hugged tightly. Brienne watched as Arya pleaded with Sansa to re-think her decision. How wolves stayed and fought together. She clung to Sansa like a pup about to be deserted. Sansa only held her, having run out of words to say.

When someone had made her peace about death, there was nothing more to say.

Sansa caught the eye of a couple of soldiers and nodded. They were quick to follow her, easily pulling off Arya, who screamed and kicked but in her distress, was easily overpowered by the soldiers. Sansa searched for Brienne’s face and they looked at each other.

Brienne nodded, breathing deeply to keep her own tears at bay.  Then Sansa turned away.

She had only gone a few steps when the whinnying and galloping hoofbeats came from the other side of the surrounding darkness. She paused, head turning but finding nothing.

Suddenly, a spark of light.

Then another.

Followed by another.

And from high in the sky, a ragged column of light followed by a growl. _What monster had Cersei scrounged up now?_

One by one, golden light burst from the army surrounding them. Brienne lost count of the mounted soldiers. They were outmatched.

She never thought she would say these words in her life. Never thought she would do something like it. She was a knight. She never walked away from a fight. But her children. Lady Arya. The soldiers. It was no longer just her life on the line. _Her children_

Suddenly, they heard the heavy, ominous sound of wings and wind. _Wings. Heavy, leathery wings._ From the light around them, something dark and huge swept from the sky before landing on the snow. The trees seemed to bow and sigh as this creature swooped down. Sansa stood frozen on her spot, while Royce called on his knights to keep their arrows ready. Then he galloped toward Sansa, yelling at her to come back.

Then, right before their eyes, a gigantic, scaly head illuminated by the torches in the background. Sansa screamed and leaped back. She fell in the snow and Royce just about managed to turn the horse sharply to the side to avoid crushing her. The horse whinnied and the head growled.

_“Sansa?”_

A mighty roar that sent the ground shaking and snow falling from trees shattered through the quiet. Through her fear and confusion, Brienne realized that the head leaning toward Sansa was a dragon.

_A dragon._

Something climbed down. The light was slow to reveal who he was.

 _“Sansa?”_  It was the same voice that had called on her earlier.

“J-Jon?” __  
  


 

******  
They rode for the entire night, putting as much distance from the Vale and Cersei’s armies as much as their horses can. To Brienne’s gratitude, Selwyn and Catelyn cooperated, taking turns sleeping in her arms or the cradle. She and Sansa took turns holding one of the children, to give arms and shoulders sore from the growing weight of an infant.

She woke up with her head pressed against the glass of the window, and to the view of rolling flatlands covered in snow with patches of dark earth peeking through. The trees were thin, their branches stripped of leaves so they looked like witch’s fingers breaking through the ground to seize the sky. _The sky._ Brienne was stunned. It was gray, dark like that in an impending storm’s. It had been so long since she had seen something else aside from darkness that the desolation before her seemed summer.

In her bewildered state, she didn’t realize they were slowing down until the carriage stopped. Maester Colemon pulled up abreast of them and was the one to get the door of the carriage. He helped Lady Sansa down first. She was holding Selwyn. He helped Brienne next, who held Catelyn.

“Where are we?” Brienne asked, blinking at the bleak but very welcome grayness around them. The men were leading their soldiers to the water, which was frozen solid. Few started taking an ax to the solid surface.

The ground shook and they looked at each other before turning to see where it came from. Colemon led them to where Jon had the dragon land on top of snowy boulder. His other soldiers had also stopped to lead their horses to the river for a drink.

The dragon was smaller than the one Daenerys used to ride. Jaime mentioned that because Drogon was mourning his mother, it was dangerous to approach him. Jon seemed to have no trouble with Rhaegal, however.

He climbed off its back and, holding on to a wing, was lowered to the ground. Jon approached them with a slight limp in his gait.

“Are we far from the Eyrie?” Sansa asked.

“Enough,” he assured her. He nodded ahead and pointed. “See those twin structures in the distance? We have another day’s ride before reaching the Twins.”

“The Twins,” Arya spoke up, startling them. She gazed across the river, her expression inscrutable. Then she turned away. Sansa looked at her before catching Brienne’s gaze. They were going to the site where Catelyn Stark, Robb Stark and his wife, along with the rest of the Northern army, were slaughtered by the Freys and Boltons, at the orders of Tywin Lannister. Brienne wondered if a night of peace was possible there.

She watched Arya staring across the twin structures from the river. She had come close to being slaughtered herself, if The Hound had brought her earlier. A tinge of warmth filled her heart in remembering the cranky, scarred giant. He had been cranky until he breathed his last, succumbing to his injuries from that fatal trek from Eastwatch to secure a wight as proof to Cersei.

“I haven’t had the time to congratulate you, Lady Brienne,” Jon told her, drawing her attention to him. He was eyeing the babies in her arms and Sansa’s before looking away. It was expected of him to struggle looking at them, when the loss of Daenerys and their child will always be a bleeding wound. “I hope the ride wasn’t too hard on you. Just one more day and you will be able to rest.”

“Thank you.”

“Jon, what happened? We received a raven that Winterfell is gone. We sent the same raven back but never heard from you again. How are you at The Twins now?” Sansa asked as Royce approached them with Podrick and Lady Anya.

Jon narrowed his eyes at Lady Anya, who thought to introduce herself. He gave her a slight bow but addressed them in a low voice, “To answer your question, I can’t have an audience.”

“Lady Anya can be trusted,” Sansa protested. “She went with us at the risk of losing her House and her life.”

“Still, Sansa. While there’s much to find out, I’d rather keep the information to people I trust. I apologize, Lady Anya.”

The old woman looked affronted, as expected, but pulled herself together. “If that’s what must be done, so be it. But my presence here should serve as proof that I am now pledged to House Stark. I shall earn your trust, King Jon.”

“I’m not the King, my lady. There is no King in the North, but only a Queen. My sister Sansa.”

“Keep telling yourself that, if it helps you sleep better at night. But men who usually don’t want power are the ones suited for it. Something to think about, Your Grace.” And with a sweep of her skirts, she was gone.

Jon wasn’t pleased. “She knows?”

“You can’t deny your lineage,” Royce told him. “Nor your responsibility.”

“My responsibility is to ensure we survive. The only seat I’m interested in is the back of the horse or my dragon. I’m not interested in one made of forged swords or the one at the High Table.”

“We have more pressing matters,” Sansa said impatiently. Selwyn squirmed in her arms as he yawned. Jon stared at him before speaking.

“A raven was sent, yes, to tell you that Winterfell had fallen. As soon as that raven was gone, we were in danger. Or rather, Bran was.”

“What’s happened to Bran? Is he alright?”

“Yes. He lives and is under heavy guard. Ser Jaime himself guards him at night.”

Brienne felt a catch in her throat. “How’s Jaime?”

“Any man who slew the Night King would skate on his fame until death. For Ser Jaime, it’s business as usual. But he misses you. Rages how we can not be found and that you won’t forgive him for abandoning you.”

Jaime would always think the worst of himself. “Not found? Why? You’re at The Twins, didn’t you say?”

“We have the Twins. We will stay there for a few days so that everyone can recover—especially you, Lady Brienne. I have sent some of my men to inform Ser Jaime of your arrival. But where Bran and what’s left of the Northern armies, it’s in a place that can not be found by a raven.”

“You’re at Greywater Watch,” Sansa gasped.

“Yes. Winterfell was in chaos after the fall of the Night King. His death took the monsters with him but there’s hardly anything left standing in Winterfell. We never finished accounting for who was lost, or even how many.” At Sansa’s distraught face, he put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Winterfell is lost for now. But we will rebuild. Winter is our domain. It can also be our shield against more danger from the south.”

“Cersei.”

“Yes. And she has begun to use children in her sick games. A child snuck into Bran’s chambers. I went to see him and that was when I saw this little girl about to stab him in the throat. I had no choice. I killed her. She had bluish lips. Jorah Mormont identified her as a warlock. From Esssos.”

“Cersei has hired assassins? Children who are assassins?” Brienne demanded, clutching Catelyn so tightly she began to cry. Immediately contrite, she kissed her daughter and tried to shush her.

“Soon after, a raven arrived from King’s Landing. Written in her hand, she demanded that I bend the knee to her or she will wear my sisters as pelts for the winter and send Robin flying like the falcon he is. The warlock I killed wasn’t the last—another tried to take Ser Jaime. He managed to stop her but not before getting stabbed on the side.”

“Stabbed? You told me he was alright!”

“He lives, Lady Brienne. Walking, being his usual mocking, irritating, arrogant self. If you think a knife would weaken your husband, think again. After two attempts by such assassins, it was clear we were just sitting targets for Cersei’s wrath. We had to move fast lest someone alert her of her plans. We garrisoned at the Twins first before making our way to Greywater Watch. The Neck is a chokepoint and with winter, it is the only place that her armies can pass through. We’ve been planning to take you and Arya away from the Eyrie when it became clear Cersei was going to march her armies north. But the Bloody Gate was impassable. We were thinking to get a message to you somehow, that’s why my men and I were at Strongsong. But we were being watched.”

Brienne remembered the soldier wearing House Lefford’s colors that they killed on their way to the Vale. House Lefford was one of the vassals of House Lannister.

“We were going to escape before Brienne gave birth because Robin intends to bend the knee to Cersei. She also knew we were there, that’s why we left. There’s a traitor. Or traitors.”

“Now you understand why I want this information between us only.” Jon looked at the three of them pointedly.  

Selwyn cried, cutting their conversation short. Jon stared at him before saying, “He sounds strong.”

“He is,” Sansa said proudly. She looked at Brienne. “Is it alright for Jon to carry him?”

“Oh, no, I haven’t---” Jon started to say but Brienne had already nodded.

Selwyn was passed to him, Jon automatically forming a kind of cradle with his arms. “Just support his neck and relax,” Sansa said as he held Selwyn. For one moment, he looked absolutely terrified of the little person cooing and squirming in his arms.

Brienne’s heart went out to Jon when she saw the shaky puff of breath leave his lips. His dark eyes watered for a moment and he blinked repeatedly as he looked at Selwyn. He held the baby securely, lowering his head to get a better look.

“He has his father’s eyes.”

“He does, yes.”

“Ser Jaime should be here,” Jon said after a moment.

He handed the baby back to Sansa and turned to look at Catelyn. “You named her after the mother I know,” was all he said. She did not expect much. He was still in mourning and just living day by day.

“How did you come to ride the dragon, Your Grace?” Royce asked, glancing at Rhaegal. “I thought they were bonded exclusively to their mother.”

“Daenerys told me that dragons will only let a Targaryen ride them.” Jon looked at the sleeping dragon. Despite its size, there was something child-like about it as it lay on its stomach, dozing with apparent contentment. “I did not believe her at first. For a while, she did not believe who I really was either until Bran managed to convince her. She finally saw for herself when she saw Rhaegal let me on. She named him after her brother. My father.”  


****  
After a meal and getting some rest, their caravan continued for the rest of the day to the Twins.

The Twins were sworn to House Lannister until the time of Walder Frey’s murder. It had been Jaime’s first stop after escaping Cersei, gathering what had been left of his House’s armies there to take them North. The soldiers under House Frey had deserted the castle, and with their leader gone, there was no one to lead the family anymore. Jaime had been the one to strip them of their titles and lands. Some would call it cruel being that the perpetrators of the Red Wedding were not the entire Frey clan but Jaime was one Lannister who paid his debts.

Brienne was remembering this fireside conversation they had after his return from the battle against the Golden Company as she and her babies were ushered to a chamber that had clearly belonged to one of the ladies of House Frey. The bed had entwined birds carved on its four posts. It was also wider than the usual bed, making her think that its previous occupant must be quite corpulent.

She put Catelyn on the bed and took Selwyn from a servant girl to put him next to his sister. She smiled at the brightening of their eyes and what looked to be smiles as their little bodies discovered comfort at last. Because of the warm fire from the fireplace, the room was wonderfully toasty. She smiled and bopped her nose playfully against their little faces as she freed them from their dusty, travel clothes. Selwyn shrieked, kicking his legs and waving his arms in enthusiasm while Catelyn cooed.

A huge tub was carried into the room, as well as a wide basin. The servant curtsied awkwardly at Brienne. “My lady, I could give the babies a bath while you relax in your own bath, if you’d like.”

“Thank you but I’d rather bathe them myself.” Brienne answered.

She never appreciated the importance of servants especially to new mothers such as herself, but she was still very possessive of her children. They were safest in her arms and will not find the best care with anyone else. So what if she was still a little awkward when holding them and spent half the time terrified and unsure? She was their mother and she still take care of them. She will learn.

Catelyn shrieked with laughter as she splashed in the basin, wetting Brienne’s clothes. Selwyn was on a thick pile of towels next to the tub and she had placed some of the books she found at the bedside table as a barrier to protect him from falling. Brienne made funny faces that had Catelyn squealing and kicking in excitement, basically rinsing the soap from her body. When she bathed Selwyn, her son was quieter but was still excited about the warm water, judging from his dimpled smile.

She swaddled her babies in the thickest towels, not dressing them first. When they started to whine and her breasts were once again painfully heavy, she knew what to do.

She unlaced her shirt then pulled it over her head. Milk was already leaking from her breasts. She stepped out of her breeches then boots and, fully nude, climbed into bed. She put more layers of dry towels on her lap and this was where she placed her babies, so they could nurse from her.

She marveled at how they seemed to grow before her eyes. They were heavier now from when they first escaped from the Vale. Though it was winter, their cheeks were rosy and they seemed to thrive, although that was because they had yet to discover the warmth of the sun. She smoothed away Selwyn’s pale hair, caressed Catelyn’s cheek. How could something that was necessary of her as a mother be steeped in such joy?

It was still a dangerous time. Though she nursed hope, there was still the worry that not all of them will see spring. But she will have to try. For Catelyn and Selwyn. _For Jaime._

After burping the twins, she sang them to sleep. Brienne could not remember songs because it had been so long since she heard one. So she made one up, blushing and smiling as she sang about a one-handed golden knight that brought light back in the world.

 

*****

They rested at the Twins for two nights before resuming their way to Greywater Watch. The rest did them a lot of good, especially the babies. Brienne had been examined by Colemon too and her bleeding had stopped. Still, she was reminded over and over to not exert herself too much. She scowled at him when he pressed her to get a wet nurse so she could recover faster.

The mountainous terrain was gone but replaced by a still-difficult, unsteady ground leading to swamps. The air did not smell only of snow but of something muddy and earthy. It made Brienne’s stomach turn. Selwyn and Catelyn remained asleep, thankfully.

With Jon Snow’s army providing them escort, it made for easier sleep. The worry of Cersei’s forces lying in wait for them was pushed further back although the danger lingered. Monsters from myth have been defeated, receding back into stories where they belonged. But monsters covered in beautiful flesh was going to take more than armies, magic and prayer to kill.

“I wonder how Jon convinced the crannogmen to our side,” Sansa mused as she looked out of the window, Catelyn sleeping peacefully in her arms. “I know Robb sent them a letter but Jojen Reed never responded. Instead he sent his children for Bran and Rickon.”

Her voice wavered a little at the mention of the youngest Stark, slain by Ramsay Bolton’s arrow. Brienne had met only Roose Bolton. His pale gray eyes were almost white and sent a chill to her spine even as he had apologizing to her for the behavior of his men in Harrenhal. His voice had been silky, like a snake’s. According to Sansa, Ramsay was more dangerous. He was gleeful when drawing blood.

After raping Sansa, Ramsay knocked her off the bed and pressed his face repeatedly on the spot on the sheet stained with her blood, still fresh and wet. Then he pulled her back to bed, proceeded to rape her again and again, laughing over her screams and pleas as more of her blood poured from their violent, cruel joining. Despite knowing this, Roose never lifted a finger or did anything to reprimand his son.

“Perhaps Lord Reed felt his way was more effective,” Brienne replied.

“It stole his son and robbed me of the brother I knew. But are any of us still the same? I think we’ve all died, somewhat.” Sansa continued staring out of the window, speaking in a low, disembodied voice. “I never thought it would be more merciful to have a sword slashed at your throat. Every day that I am alive, I seem to be saying farewell to everything.”

After her jubilance at being reunited with Jon, Sansa seemed to have into some form of depression. Her cheeks were pink and gone was the face lined and drawn gray from exhaustion and panic. Brienne suspected her low spirits was because she really had expected to die. Even welcomed it. Being Lady of Winterfell was hardly a consolation to what she had lost. Death ended the cycle.

“I would like to believe that if we survive, farewells will be less.”

Sansa looked at her, smiling wanly. “I wish to share your hope, Brienne.” Her smile brightened as Selwyn yawned in his mother’s arms. “You have so much to live for. And Ser Jaime would be so pleased to see you.”

They felt it the moment the carriage traveled on steady ground. Brienne looked up and saw themselves on a thickly-fortified moat and approaching a modest castle. This was Greywater Watch.

A small retinue of servants were waiting for them, surrounding a small, slender man with dark hair mixed with gray. Beside him was a girl of similar height and more slight in figure. They were Howland and Meera Reed.

Standing the tallest in the crowd was Jaime Lannister.

Brienne’s heart was still racing after the driver pulled the horses to a stop. A footman opened the door, taking Sansa by one hand while she kept Catelyn secure with her other arm. Jaime’s eyes immediately went to this bundle and stayed there. Brienne saw the conflicting emotions in his face: relief and shock, wonder and happiness. She was next to leave the carriage and Jaime’s eyes went to her.

Her nose was pink and her chin wobbling from the words and whimpers she was fighting to keep inside. Despite being weary, she felt that familiar, golden stirring in the pit of her stomach when in the presence of her husband. Jaime looked at her with a sweet longing she only heard from songs coming back to her now.

His hair was no longer as golden but dark blond. His beard was now a shadow that outlined his jaw. He wore a gambeson of a rich, dark crimson, and black leather pants and boots. She was glad to see him look healthy although there were dark circles under his eyes. Tyrion stood next to him, dressed in similar colors.

“Lady Sansa, Lady Brienne,” Howland Reed approached them, his reedy arms spread wide. “Welcome. I am pleased that you have arrived at last.”

They bowed before him and he quickly shook his head, his long-fingered hands clutching at Sansa’s shoulders to pull her up. He also did the same with Brienne. “There is no need for such formality, especially to the daughter of a man I had always considered a brother, and her knight. Lady Brienne,” his moss-green eyes warmed at her. “your honor and bravery are well known among us.”

“Thank you for opening your doors to us, Lord Reed.” Sansa said. As she spoke, Arya approached on her horse and jumped down. Sansa giggled and held out a hand to her. “May I present my sister, Lady Arya.”

Now it was Howland who bowed. “You look just like your Aunt Lyanna,” he remarked. “You must have her courage too.”

Arya looked pleased and inclined her head. “Thank you, Lord Reed.”

Jon joined them as Howland introduced Meera. “You’ve met my daughter.”

“Meera.” Sansa was the one to hug her and Meera hugged her back. “It is nice to see you again.”

“You too.” Meera said.

“Lady Brienne, someone has been wearing out our floors with his endless pacing since being told of your impending arrival,” Howland Reed said as Jaime and Tyrion  approached. Jaime gave the old man a side-eye before stopping in front of Brienne.

She looked at him, feeling herself shake from the emotions swirling inside her. “S-Ser Jaime,” she whispered.

His emerald eyes burned. “My wife.”

“Ser Jaime, Lord Tyrion” Sansa went to the brothers, holding out Catelyn. “Meet Catelyn Lannister.”

If Jaime was surprised at the choice of the name, he didn’t show it. Instead he stared at the baby for a moment before holding out his arms. Brienne felt a new surge of love for him as he held Catelyn with ease. Of course, he would know. He’d had children although he was never allowed to be a father to them. Tyrion smiled at fondly Catelyn before turning to her.

“Hats off to you for ensuring Lannisters survive, Lady Brienne. May I borrow my nephew? My little arms are stronger than they look.”

“I have no doubt,” Brienne assured him, bending her knees as she gently passed Selwyn to him. Happiness lit up his uncle’s face.

“Another handsome Lannister. The women of Westeros would be thanking the Seven.”

“You’ve given me a daughter,” Jaime whispered to Brienne when she straightened up. Sansa was ushered away by Howland Reed. The rest of the party melted away. He smiled at Selwyn. “And a son.”

“The gifts of Winter,” she murmured, finally allowing a sniffle to escape her. A chiding, affectionate look came from Jaime and, with just one arm holding Catelyn, held out the other to her. She hugged him, pressing her face against his nekc. Love, desire and passion flowed and became one upon scenting the familiar tang of his sweat, leather and steel. She nuzzled her nose against his beard before turning to the side for a kiss was already giving before she could even beg.

His lips were dry and slightly chapped, but she tingled and burned all over. His tongue swooped in to taste her, and she kissed him back furiously. When they pulled apart, they were a little out of breath and flushed, their lips swollen and red. Then Catelyn whimpered and Jaime looked at her.

“Just as well our little reunion was interrupted,” he said, amused. Selwyn started getting restless too and Tyrion now looked unsure. “Are they okay?”

“They’re not crying so I don’t think they’re hungry or need changing. They must have just realized they’re with their father.” Brienne explained, taking Selwyn and smiling at Catelyn.

Tyrion brushed his palms. “Well, I’ll leave you to your reunion. Lady Brienne, I’m glad you and the children are safe. Having you here will give us some peace of mind. If you’ll excuse me,” he bowed to her, grinned and sauntered away.

“Bring my wife’s trunks to my chambers,” Jaime ordered the three servants who remained a discreet distance, so they may have their kiss. “She also needs food and drink.”

Brienne had not been able to pack much. There was still Oathkeeper at her hip, a few breeches and shirts but most of the trunks’ contents were clothes for the twins. A servant offered to relieve them of the children and they shook their heads.

“I didn’t know Greywater Watch is a castle,” Brienne marveled as she followed Jaime inside. It did not have the grandeur of the Red Keep and was even more sparse than Winterfell. But the walls were thick and the furniture sturdy though worn. Faded tapestries of lizard-lions, the sigil of House Reed, hung at the walls and from the ceilings.

The air was warm inside the castle and there was the faint trace of wet winter and mud that together, seemed like brine and boss combined. Brienne tried not to wrinkle her nose as she followed Jaime up the winding stairs leading to the upper chambers.

“I didn’t know until I was here either. I thought it can not be found because it is mobile. Turns out it’s the location that’s difficult to find. But at a moment’s notice, everything of importance can be packed away. The crannogmen are masters in vanishing without a trace, and quickly.” Jaime answered, smiling as Catelyn wailed and waved her little fists. “Did you know they can also hide in plain sight?”

“They can? Do you think they can teach us?” Brienne asked excitedly.

Jaime paused to smirk at her. “ _I_ can teach you.”

She smiled back and hurried up the steps.

Jamie’s chambers were small but had a very comfortable-looking bed that could easily fit two big bodies. There were also cradles set up against the wall. From the window came the strange scent again of earth and winter and it was stronger this time.

 One of the servants asked Brienne if she would like for her clothes be placed in the closet. She shook her head, preferring to do it herself. A promise to bring food and drink immediately was made before she was left with her husband.

Jaime put Catelyn on the bed and held out his arms to take Selwyn from her. She watched father and son look at each other, enjoying Jaime’s surprise at seeing his own emerald gaze on his baby. He must have thought both had her sapphire eyes. He kissed Selwyn on the cheek.

The babies were still too young to be any trouble although they were active right now and wanted to play. Brienne looked in her pack to retrieve a matching set of wood-carved lions Jon had fashioned for them. She sat down at the foot of the bed, holding out the toys for them. Jaime, sitting by the pillows, watched them.

“You are Mother, Warrior and Maiden,” he said tenderly. “Just look at you.”

Brienne smiled shyly. “I should hope so.”

“How long did it take for you to bring them to the world?” Jaime asked, holding one of the lions and grinning as Catelyn tried to grab it from him.

“Close to eighteen hours.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“I missed you and wished you were there,” she admitted. “But you were fighting to keep us alive. Jon said you slew the Night King. You ended the war, husband. You brought back light.”

“I wanted to get back to you. It was the only way.” He said quietly.

Brienne stood up and, surprising him, threw herself at his feet. She buried her face on his lap, sobbing. “Brienne—” he started to say, smoothing her messy hair from her head and urging her to look at him. “My wife kneels for no one—”

“I don’t care,” she declared, brushing her hand across her eyes and dripping nose. She looked so ugly with her tears and red face, but Jaime stared at her with love. “I thought you lost when I didn’t hear anything for months. I wanted to die, Jaime. I wanted to be with you but I couldn’t because I didn’t want to hurt our children. Our children became my reason for living, for refusing to believe you’d gone until I had proof. All I could think about was you getting hurt—”

He growled her name and scooped her up from the floor for a kiss she felt right in her soul. She sobbed his name and seized his head with both hands, sparring her tongue desperately with his. Still holding her, Jaime stood up from the bed and pushed her against the wall.

“I know you can’t fuck yet,” he hissed, biting her lip as he yanked at the laces of her travel cloak. It fell with a heavy thud on the stone floor. “But I’m going to have you, Brienne. I can have you in other ways.”

“I want you,” she gasped, wrestling against his clothes too. They grunted in frustration when getting rid of their shirts interrupted their kiss. Something tore but they didn’t care. Only each other. As Jaime fondled her milk-swollen breasts, she loosened the ties of his breeches and pushed them down. She seized him by the ass, giving the cheeks a hearty slap that had him yelping before her mouth crushed his lips. They nibbled each other’s lips, licked, he palmed her breasts possessively. Still keeping one hand on his wonderfully firm ass, she reached between them to fondle his cock. Gods, she had missed him so much.

Milk hung like wet pearls from her nipples. Seeing this, Jaime lowered his head and claimed one of the fat, swollen tips. A blush the color of beets exploded from every pore on Brienne’s face, her eyes huge. Yet instead of pushing him away, she arched and pushed her breast deeper in his mouth. He groaned and suckled harder. His hand squeezed her other breast and milk spurted. She squeaked and he quickly turned to take it in his mouth. On it went, squeezing her breasts gently for the milk, catching it in his tongue, in his mouth.

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he groaned before taking another nipple.

Brienne, lost in the heavenly sensation of her husband sucking milk from her breasts, hardly heard the creak of an opening door. It was the sharp, wheezing gasp from the door that drew them to a sudden stop. Brienne shrieked, a leg climbing up protectively around Jaime’s ass to cover it. Jaime released her nipple with a slow, loud pop.

The servant girl was staring at them owl-eyed, the tray and its contents rattling in her hands. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Out!” Jaime snarled, startling both women and making the babies wail. “Put the tray down and get out!”

The servant girl gasped and, as instructed, put the tray on the floor before nearly tripping on her way out. Brienne pressed her hot face against Jaime’s sweaty neck.

“Oh, gods.”

“It’s alright. She’s gone.” Jaime kissed her on the temple. She sighed in frustration and looked at him before glancing at the babies. He kissed her again and stepped aside to let her pass.

She offered her breasts, but they were more interested in sleep. It took some soothing sounds, kisses and the lightest of touches for the twins to slip back into dreamland. Jaime put his arms around her, hand and stump rising to touch her breasts. She grinned, blushing as she leaned back against him as his lips warmed her nape.

“Where were we?”

Brienne turned and, biting her lip, shoved him playfully towards a chair. Jaime chuckled until the backs of his knees hit the edge and he fell. “Seven hells,” he murmured, realizing what was going to happen as she slowly knelt before him.

She had seen the whores in Renly’s camp doing it for the men. They began with kisses so she brushed her lips against Jaime’s, remembering to reach down and touch him. His cock was part of him but so different. Velvety skin over warm steel. Smooth. He sighed against her tongue as she rubbed him, knowing how to hold his member. It was just like the hilt of the sword but felt a thousand times better.

She licked down his chest, purring at the taste of his sweat, kissing his new scars. She paused at the long scar on his side, which was where the warlock had nearly got him. Realizing she had stopped to stare, he put a finger under her chin so she would look at him.

“I’m alright. I’m here. Let’s not think of the times we could have been separated for good,” he pleaded.

He was tensed and groaning under her lips and hands, and when she lowered the latter to his thighs, she found muscles thick from restraining their owner. She circled her tongue round and round his navel before dipping it there, a wet flutter that had him sighing roughly, loudly.

She looked up to see him watching her as lowered her face to his cock. Suddenly shy, she lavished little kisses up and down the length of him instead. He was so thick, she discovered for the first time. And long. How did he fit inside her? Maybe it was because of his size why she always felt him deeply. She stared back at him as her mouth opened, first a round O before she dropped her jaw to take the fat, plum-like tip of him fully.

_“Brienne.”_

Emboldened by his strangled cry, she moved to take more of him in her mouth, moving up and down his cock with a languid pace that made him groan and grab at her hair. It hurt but didn’t really notice, her existence centered at this moment on his cock pushing deep in her throat.

He tasted of salt and something else. It wasn’t strange or unpleasant but it took some getting used to. She closed her eyes as pleasure swept through her. He felt so full and heavy in her mouth, and she held him in one hand while she squeeze, and gave a little tug at his balls with the other. He grunted her name, and she almost pulled away, thinking she had hurt him when he pleaded with her  in a voice that sounded a little tearful.

_“Don’t fucking stop.”_

She purred against the mouthful of cock in her, feeling him stiffen before suddenly filling her mouth. She almost gagged but his hand at her head kept her pressed against the base of his cock, her mouth opening wider to take the seed flowing from him. She swallowed hungrily, realizing this is what she had to do.

She licked him clean afterwards. Her mouth and tongue felt tingly and his flavor lingered at the back of her throat. Jaime cupped her face and kissed her sweetly. “I love you, Brienne,” he whispered, looking in her eyes.

She nodded and kissed him back. “I love you.”

They turned to the bed, smiling at seeing how their children were sound asleep. Jaime was careful in getting the blanket from it, and ensured he was quiet in straightening it before spreading it in front of the fireplace. “Come here,” he told her, holding up his arm.

She quickly lay down beside him, turning on her back so he could spoon against her. Then she took his hand and lowered it to her cunt. He smiled at her husky moan as his palm settled firm on the thick cluster of hairs. She missed sleeping like this.

“I have missed you so much,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Jaime?”

“Hmm?”

“Play with me? That—that thing. The button. What do you call it?” She was blushing. He could feel it.

“Your clit?”

“Yes. Will you play with it? I’m sure it’s alright. But I do wish you can fuck me. I’ve been lost because it’s been so long since you were inside me.”

“I will fuck you when it’s safe, Brienne. Trust me on that. You won’t be leaving the bed at all,” he promised, fingers nudging her cunt lips apart and finding her clit. They groaned. As he played with her clit, he continued whispering against her ear, “I’ll even bind you, wife, and keep my cock in you all day. Will you like that?”

 _“Yes,”_ she moaned, rolling her hips against the movements of his hand.

“I love you,” Jaime told her again, lips falling on her neck. “I am yours. And you are mine.”

 

*******  
They were ravenous when they woke up a few hours later, as were the children. Jaime watched admiringly as she nursed them from her breasts. He lay down beside her, a plate of meats and cheeses on his lap. He held out a sliver of aged ham and she took a bite. Catelyn and Selwyn suckled strongly from her nipples.

She changed their nappies and cleaned them up with cooled water from a basin. Selwyn cried, getting red in the face at the cool sensation. She laughed and kissed him comfortingly as she finished then wrapped him up again. Catelyn was more calm, just watching her mother clean her up.

Rested and more energized than she felt in the last several months, she asked Jaime if they could take the children for a walk around Greywater Watch. He readily agreed, picking up Selwyn. Selwyn frowned at his father before suddenly bursting into a gummy smile and pressing his head against his neck. Brienne’s heart sang listening to Jaime laugh.

Their babies bundled warmly in their arms, they walked around Greywater Watch. Outside, the smell of winter and swamp was more overpowering. It didn’t make Brienne’s stomach queasy anymore, though she asked Jaime about the smell. He admitted to feeling a little sick himself the first time he smelled it but got used to it.

“It’s hellishly cold at night but winter as considerably mild here compared to the rest of the north,” he told her, bouncing Selwyn gently in his arms to get the baby laughing.

“I can’t believe we can still see the ground,” she said, glancing at the ground where some patches of dark earth peeked through the snow. “And there is some light.”

At the word light, Catelyn and Selwyn made a sound. Jaime kissed Selwyn on the forehead. “Light, my son. Your mother said ‘light.’”

He took her to the practice yard, where Jon Snow had taken over training the soldiers to give Jaime some time with his family. Brienne noticed his limp once again and asked her husband about it.

“The Night King cut his horse by the legs and Jon fell.” Jaime explained. “He tried to get up and that’s when I saw the cut on his leg. I was still some distance and was trying to help him when Little Lyanna Mormont came to his aid. She tried but he stabbed her in the heart. She died quickly.”

Brienne put a hand on his shoulder when he paused, realizing how hard this must be for him. “It’s alright if it’s difficult to talk about, my love.”

“No, I must. The crannogmen, it’s interesting that for people who are experts at hiding, they draw the line on hiding what’s in your heart. I’ve been killing myself with guilt for months over what happened to Lyanna, and knowing that you’re pregnant and in danger from my sister’s advancing forcs. It helps to speak of it. Anyway, I managed to get to Jon, who was in inch shy of having that spear in his heart. As I’m known to do,” his voice was bitter but tired, “I stabbed the Night King. On the back. He fell down, I went for his throat next. Just like Aerys.”

Brienne, holding her daughter close to her chest with one arm, reached up to hug Jaime tightly. “It’s done, Jaime. It’s over. You saved us all.”

“All I could think about was coming back to you. We lost so many men, Brienne. I couldn’t---I couldn’t accept defeat because it meant breaking my vows to you and the children.”

“I always hoped. I only had hope.” She told him. “I confess that sometimes it faltered but I lived for the children. And there were days when I truly thought you dead. If not for the children you’ve given me, I wouldn’t be here now.”

“I had nightmares of Cersei hurting you. She can hurt me but I won’t let her or anyone in her army lay a finger on you and our children. All will have to go through me first.”

“Won’t I be at your side?” She asked, hoping to lighten the dreary approach of their topic. “I expect to spar with you by the next moon, husband.”

He smiled. “I look forward to it. Come on. I’ll show you where the dragons are.”

“With the children?” She tightened her hold on Catelyn.

Jaime caught himself and shook his head. “Of course not.”

He called on a guard to send for two maids to hold their children while he took his wife to see the dragons. Brienne wasn’t too sure on the idea but she trusted Jaime to keep them a good distance from the creatures. Jon may be allowed to ride one but it didn’t mean it was tamed.

Two young, eager-looking maids approached them and were more than happy to relieve the lord and his lady of their children. Brienne was doubtful. They looked strong but she had never left either of the twins before. Just as she was about to tell Jaime she had changed her mind, he dragged her behind him.

They were careful because of the swamps surrounding them. Lizard-lions lurked about so they had to remain on the little patches of snowy land lest the end up as lunch. The dragons stayed on the tallest hill by the swamps. There were no barriers but its distance was safe enough from the populatation.

The path to the hill was narrow and slippery but Jaime pulled her behind him with ease, as if she weighed close to nothing. “Did you make something of a dragon pit here?” She asked.

“No. Too long a work and the winter is too harsh. Tyrion said that back in Dragonstone, the dragons would just be on a hill behind the castle. So that’s where they are.”

"Where's Tyrion now? He was always going around in Winterfell." 

“In his little corner of the castle, no doubt, working as Jon’s Hand.” He glanced at Brienne, who blushed. “You’re not going to say anything?”

She shrugged. “I still have to get used to the speed of changing alliances.”

“Tyrion was never against Jon,” Jaime said as they approached the top. “He supported Daenerys, that’s all. He certainly has the mind to help run whatever’s left of Westeros when we’ve stopped fighting each other. Wife,” he put an arm around her waist and pointed. “There they are. Just don’t make any loud sound or sudden movements,” he said in a low voice.

She nodded and looked in the direction of where he was pointing.

There, on the snow, were two of Daenerys’ dragons, Drogon and Rhaegal. They were at rest, and seemingly asleep. They looked like mountainous boulders with eyes. And a tail.

“Are they---have they harmed people?” Brienne asked.

“Not within Greywater Watch. They decimated the Night King’s army before he died and took the last with him.”

Brienne felt a little ill. “So, you’re saying they may have hurt someone outside of Greywater Watch?”

“I don’t think they crave human flesh. They only burn on command,” Jaime said. He smiled at her pale face gave her waist a squeeze. “Wife, we’re safe. We’re not doing anything.”

“I still think we should leave,” she said but staring at the dragons. She had never seen them at rest before, let alone this closely. They were monstrous but there was something marvelous about them. She also saw the scars on their scaly flesh. They had fought hard.

“Jon is having a hard time because the dragons can only understand commands in Valyrian. He knows the word for ‘fly,’ for example, but always fucks up on the one for ‘fire.’”

“Dracarys.”

Brienne said it softly. Jaime even strained to hear her. “What?”

He had trouble hearing it but not the dragons, seeing as their heads suddenly straightened up and slowly turned toward them.

 _“Fuck,”_ Jaime muttered, standing in front of Brienne. “Move, Brienne. Slowly.”

She nodded. Keeping her eyes on the dragons, she started walking down the path they had taken during the climb.

She didn’t notice the patch of snow her boot landed on. Her foot skidded and she yelled as her body flew high in the air before thudding heavily on the sloping hill. Jaime screamed and she heard him running after her. Brienne screamed at him to not move, realizing that she was rolling towards the dragons. Her back skidded on the hill during the last few feet before her body landed on the base and stopped moving. As she grunted, two pairs of yellow eyes stared at her. One of those was half-closed. _Drogon._

Jaime was screaming and out of the corner of her eye, he was running down the hill.

Brienne’s eyes mirrored terror as they stared up at the dragons. “Please don’t hurt him.”

It was stupid to think they could understand her. They weren’t pets. _They were dragons._

“We—we mean you no harm,” she said, cold sweat spreading on her back. “We just wanted to see. Look, I don’t even have my sword with me. I’m not going to hurt you. Please, please don’t hurt Jaime.”

As she spoke, she raised her hands, as if in surrender. Her heart was racing so fast it was beginning to hurt. The dragons followed the movements of her hands and she paused.

They paused too.

Summoning what she could remember of High Valyrian, she pleaded, “Kostilus ȳdra daor ōdrikagon īlva.” Please don’t hurt us.

She stared at the dragons as they stared back at her. Meanwhile, Jaime reached the base, drawing their eyes to him next.

“Jaime, don’t come any closer, please,” she told him, still keeping an eye on the dragons.

“Brienne—”

 _“Please.”_ Tears pricked her eyes.

Then to their surprise, Drogon suddenly curved his long neck toward her until they were looking at each other eye-to-eye. Small puffs of smoke exited his nostrils as he seemed to offer his snout to her.

Something heavy suddenly nudged at her shoulder and she shrank back in terror. Rhaegal had snuck up to her and she hadn’t even heard.

She heard the familiar scrape of steel against the scabbard. _“Jaime, no,”_ she gasped, still staring at the dragons. “Don’t. Just stay there.”

“Brienne—”

“I—I think if they mean to harm me they would have done it already,” she continued, still holding up her hands as she rested her weight on one foot and slowly stood up. The dragons followed her movements. ““Kostilus ȳdra daor ōdrikagon īlva.”

Rhaegal looked at her then turned away. Drogon kept his attention to her and looked. . .expectant. Could dragons look expectant? What was she seeing?

And like before, he once again made an offer of his snout. To do what? To touch.

As she extended her hand to him, her heart beat thundered in her ears. “What the fuck are you doing?” Jaime hissed, startling her.

“I don’t know. Just trust me.”

“Brienne, if you fucking get torched believe me. I will find a way to put you back together so I can throttle you. You’re not going to leave our children motherless. I fucking forbid it.”

“H-Hush,” she murmured, but wasn’t sure if she was addressing Jaime or Drogon. Breathing quickly and shallowly, she brushed her fingertips on his snout.

Drogon let out a sound between a purr and a growl and closed his eyes.

“Brienne, come back here. Now.”

Brienne ignored him, staring with wonder at the creature before her. Rhaegal had left them alone, going back to his spot to sleep. What could Drogon want from her?

As if reading her mind, Drogon lowered his body to the ground and curved his long neck toward her, his snout bumping her forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut as his breath hit her strongly in the face. It smelled of ash and smoke.

“I—I think he wants me to ride him,” Brienne whispered, still not daring to look at Jaime.

_“What?”_

Drogon growled softly and she stiffened, wondering if she had made a very fatal error. She took one step at a time, walking around him, finally glancing at Jaime. Her husband was as white as a sheet and she was sorry for what she was putting him through. But something compelled her to ride the dragon. She couldn’t explain it.

She grunted as she got on. Her backside was still sore from being seated for days and her cunt even more so, from childbirth. She stilled, her hands gripping the rough scales of Drogon’s back, the spiky texture of his leathery flesh digging at her skin despite her clothes.

What was it that she was told? The dragons lost their mother. They were thought to bond only exclusively with their mother.

_Only a Targaryen could ride a dragon._

It couldn’t be.

The dragon’s body was rumbling under her. It was harder than concrete, than steel. It felt impenetrable. Brienne looked at Jaime again.

“You’re on him,” he said, still pale and terrified. “I—I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know either,” she said. “I—what do I do next?”

“Can you get it to fly?”

“What?”

“Do you know the word for ‘fly’ in Valyrian?”

She nodded slowly.

“Do you want to do it?”

She stared at the back of Drogon’s body. “I honestly don’t know,” she said helplessly. “But it makes sense to see, right?”

“Brienne, if you’re not sure—” he came for her and Drogon turned his head sharply at him. Jaime’s boots skidded to a stop. _“Shit.”_

“Don’t hurt him.” Brienne said, tightening her hold on the animal with her arms and legs. She closed her eyes. “Jaime, I’m going to do it. I love you. Please don’t forget that. Valar.”

Drogon’s roar was mighty and probably felled trees and Greywater Watch, maybe even The Twins. Brienne, her eyes still squeezed shut, held on as his clawed, giant feet thundered across the hill, sending earth and trees tumbling down.

 _“Jaime!”_ She screamed, feeling the sharp slap of wind on her face, her body almost slamming backward before suddenly lurching forward. The scales hurt her face. She opened her eyes, thinking to slide off when a sight she never thought to see greeted her.

She was seeing the tops of trees. And the north covered in snow. Jaime a figure in crimson looking smaller and smaller as she ascended to the sky.

Brienne hugged Drogon’s back. _She was flying_.

Drogon’s roar echoed all the way to the Eyrie, drowning out Robin Arryn’s scream as he was pushed through the Moon Door.

Cersei Lannister, smiling with cold pride at The Mountain, glared sharply in the direction of the sound.

Nothing would stop her from taking what belonged to her. Not even dragons.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.
> 
> I have no idea what to make of Greywater Watch. Because it's rarely described in the books and the show is practically silent, there is very little to go on. Greywater Watch is said to impossible to find by raven and anyone who's been there once can't find it again because crannogmen can move it. 
> 
> I don't know how to write that, honestly, so please bear with me. What I chose to do instead is Greywater Watch is difficult to locate and you'll always need locals to take you there. I also interpreted crannogmen as the kind to engage in guerilla warfare and are experts in camouflage. 
> 
> Who's the traitor feeding Cersei information? Who knows? I don't think we'll find out. But in Season 6, Cersei wanted Qybun to have little birds in crucial areas of Westeros so they might be the ones giving her information. With Bran and Jaime nearly getting assassinated, and Winterfell destroyed, there's no way to keep anyone safe. That's why they sought sanctuary in Greywater Watch.
> 
> The idea for warlock assassins comes from Season 3 of the show, where Barristan Selmy saves Daenerys from a warlock. Cersei still has gold from the pillaging of Highgarden but the Golden Company has been wiped out in this story. The Second Sons, for me, won't serve her because their loyalty is still to Dany (hello, Daario). She CAN hire an assassin from the Faceless men but because she had quite a list, that's going to be super-expensive. I instead thought to use Cersei's little birds (introduced in Season 6) as warlocks--or warlocks masquerading as some of them.
> 
> Brienne's Targaryen ancestry comes from information that George RR Martin sort of confirmed a while back. If I remember right, the theory is one of her great-grandmother's (or further back) is an unidentified Targaryen lady. I harped a bit about the dragons in this story only allowing someone of Targaryen blood to ride them. That's obviously Dany then Jon. So this bit about Brienne is something that I've always meant to be a surprise when I started writing this. Does this mean her children will rule the Iron Throne? I'm keeping my lips sealed!
> 
> The previous chapter was supposed to end with the last scene you just read. I cut it (Chapter 9 is a whopper at twenty-four pages--the longest chapter I've written!) because it was too long and there was so much happening. By cutting it, I was able to insert scenes like Brienne forcing the army to stop so she can breastfeed properly (with bad roads and the babies only being a few days old, it's gonna take a serious pair of iron arms so they won't get rocked so much when feeding while on the move), her reunion with Jaime and. . .Cersei! :-)
> 
> Don't worry. We won't be seeing that murderous bitch again. 
> 
> Chapter Ten will tell you why--another scene I've been excited about since penning the first chapter!
> 
> Errors in locations are all mine. 
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!


	10. The Gift of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspicion. Smut. Battles. Deaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for any mistakes I made regarding geography. To be honest, I can't make heads or tails on available maps of Westeros and the descriptions from the show and the books just confused the fuck out of me. As a result, you will not see a very thorough layout of the places I will mention, done to minimize my mistakes. 
> 
> Thanks for understanding. So. . .here's the ending.

The Great Hall of Greywater Watch was as worn and humble as the rest of the castle. The stone floor showed cracks, with a twig or two already growing between them. The benches and tables were wood so faded they were almost white, but with broad surfaces and sturdy legs so they could still bear the heaviest of men. The High Table’s wood was still dark but already beginning to show signs of fade. All that distinguished it from the rest, aside from its position, was the gray-green mantle spread on it. A matching banner hung on the wall behind the table, with the black stitching of its sigil: the lizard-lion.

Howland Reed sat at the table, flanked by Meera on his right, and Bran next to her. Jon sat at Howland’s left and Tyrion was next to him. Jaime and Brienne stood before them, each holding a child in their arms. Surrounding them were Sansa, Arya, and Podrick, who was at the back.

Drogon had kept Brienne up in the air for close to two hours, swooping high then low through the swamps and mountains surrounding Greywater Watch. High in the sky, the air was clear and fresh, the taste of what sweet winter ought to be. Though the sky remained a dark, overcast gray that would melt into another starless evening, she could see farther north atop the dragon. The world there remained white, and darker than where she was.

Terror had her clinging to Drogon for a good part of the flight before she realized he was not going to throw her off. The implication of this was quick to be lost in her head as he took her higher and higher in the sky, eager to stretch wings that had been curled closed since his mother’s death. When he finally brought her back to Greywater Watch, it was right at the feet of Jon Snow.

A full day had passed since. Crannogmen, Dothraki, Unsullied, Northmen and the few Wildlings that remained could not stop talking about the lady knight who flew on the dragon. Brienne’s exhilaration came from the flight, rather than the discovery of her surprise heritage. Jaime’s heated, hungry gaze as she fed their twins and bathed them afterwards made her blood sing and her head light, as if high in the air again. Once the children were asleep, she finally dared to bare her hunger for her husband, wrapping a big hand around his nape as she captured his lips in a kiss that left them both delirious with lust. She felt powerful as a woman—wife, warrior, mother—not because of her dragon blood. Thus, she rode the high wave of boldness, taking Jaime’s cock in her mouth, burying her nails in the taut flesh in his ass to prompt him to spill in her throat. She slept content, thoughts of war, dragons and the implications of her roots far away from her mind. Even in sleep, she knew only of Jaime’s love with his body curled up tight against her, and was reminded of desire with his hand flat and firm on her cunt.

They were having breakfast in their room, each with a baby on the lap when Podrick knocked and went in, head bowed deeply in apology. They were being summoned to the Great Hall. With the children. An odd request, but Brienne wasn’t going to leave a nursing Selwyn with another woman, anyway. Whoever wanted to speak with her and Jaime would just have to deal with her being a mother.

Greywater Watch had a community but there were no knights, not even a maester. The servants appeared few, with Brienne remembering their faces quickly. The absence of other bodies in the Great Hall that may cause them harm assured her, somewhat. Jon Snow’s claim to the Iron Throne was through birthright and marriage but now that there was another of his blood, there was another unexpected obstacle.

As thick as the tension was, Selwyn continued to feed from her breast. The soft pulls of her son’s mouth on her nipple gave her comfort. The scent of Jaime’s fading sweat and the sight of their daughter in his arms gave her strength. Oathkeeper at her hip solidified her resolve. When Jaime’s reassuring gaze went to her, she felt a jolt in courage.

“We mean you no harm, Lady Brienne, Ser Jaime,” Howland Reed spoke. “But King Jon has questions and we ourselves would like to hear your answers.”

“King Jon?” Sansa echoed, looking at her cousin inquiringly.

“You know why I am for this war,” he told her, shifting in his seat with what appeared to be discomfort.

 “You’ve expressed repeatedly that you have no interest in the Iron Throne.”

“I still don’t want it.”

“But king?”

“Lady Sansa,” Tyrion said, glancing at Jon then at her. “King Jon has told me that he only means to command the troops and being king is a title that’s just for everyone’s convenience. We need a leader. It’s him.”

“If you don’t mean Brienne any harm, why are we all here?” Arya asked.

“It appears Lady Brienne has not been forthcoming about her blood ties,” Tyrion remarked. “A quality shared by my brother.”

“Jaime has no knowledge of my Targaryen ties. Neither do I. If you wish to scour through my genealogy, you’re more than welcome to take a ship to Tarth. Perhaps there might still be some documentation under all the rubble that’s left of Evenfall Hall, thanks to your sister.” Brienne told him. Her face was flushed with annoyance over the summons and the accusation of a deliberate lie.

“Do you wish to ask if she’s interested in the Iron Throne?” Jaime addressed them, steadying his hold of a squirming Catelyn. “Do you see her as a threat? Us?”

“Not me. But now that’s it’s wide knowledge that Lady Brienne has Targaryen blood, there might be dissent. You know as well as I do, Ser Jaime, that something about that chair drives people mad for power. I have no interest in power,” Jon declared, looking at Brienne. “None. You have my word. But I serve at the pleasure of people. If they are not pleased, they will not hesitate to exchange me for someone befitting their interests.”

“And you believe we will be swayed just like that? That we will betray you?” Brienne demanded. “Have you given them cause for displeasure?”

“I have been betrayed men simply for doing what is right, Lady Brienne.”

“What’s not right is having us here, summoned as if we’re committed an atrocity,” Arya pointed out. “You speak of men betraying you. Have women?”

“I know of one,” Tyrion responded, his mismatched eyes casting toward his brother. “As does Jaime.”

 “You’re not going to liken my wife to our sister again, Tyrion,” Jaime warned, about to lunge forward if not for Catelyn suddenly squealing. Distracted for a moment, he kissed her on the forehead before turning a cold gaze toward their audience, seething, “And anyone who dares to question her honor deserves to be introduced to her sword and mine. My wife is the most honorable, loyal person I know. This interrogation is unacceptable.”

“This is not an interrogation,” Howland reminded them, nodding at Brienne as if to reassure her. “Lady Brienne, we just want to know. Did you know of your Targaryen heritage?”

Brienne tried to recall lesson with the old maester at Evenfall Hall. He was a stooped old man who spoke so slowly that he himself would sometimes fall asleep waiting to finish. She liked to read on her own and enjoyed histories as much as she did songs. But swordplay was much better and she would sneak out of the library to take her sparring sword against a tree before the septa would drag her back inside by the ear.

“We have clear ties with the Durrandons and the Baratheons. The connection with the Targaryens is long believed to be mere legend,” she answered carefully, sieving through memories of those lessons. “I’m afraid if you wish for a clearer answer, there is none I can give. Being that it was regarded as legend, it is unlikely for there to be a scroll or some form of documentation.”

“The dragon let her take him,” Arya pointed out. “Isn’t that enough to know?”

“Ser Duncan the Tall,” Bran suddenly spoke up, drawing all eyes on him. He stared right at Brienne, as if he could see through her. “You are descended from him.”

Jaime looked at her curiously and she shrugged. She did not know, truly. Before she turned back to the High Table, she smiled gently at Catelyn, who was looking at her with big blue eyes. She seemed to smile back at her mother before suddenly rubbing her face against Jaime’s neck, drawing warmth from his eyes.

“It is not legend that you have Targaryen blood, Lady Brienne,” Bran continued. “And you are descended from the most honorable Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

“If my lord says so,” was all Brienne could say, floored by the revelation. Noticing that everyone at the table was not reacting like her, she mused, “You already know. You summoned me here as a test. To see if I’ve been lying,” she directed this at Jon. “I’ve no reason to lie. And if this interrogation is to see if I shall go against you, nothing could be a greater insult. I’m not a leader. All I want is to serve and die for a lord I believe in.”

“And who is this lord, Lady Brienne?”

“Lady Catelyn Stark,” she shot back, having to stop herself from grunting smugly when he looked taken aback.

“Brienne has never done anything for her loyalty to be questioned,” Sansa told Jon. “You may call yourself King and have all the authority. But this authority of yours. . .it’s fueled by fear. You believe she will be a threat to you and all who support her.”

“I simply don’t want another war.”

“Then stop behaving like you know everything and are above everything.” Sansa’s voice was as sharp as freshly-hewn blade. “No one wishes to contest your claim to the Iron Throne should you want it. I think you want it, for why else do you keep refusing it? It’s not that power frightens you. You know what’s it done to people You’ve seen it yourself,” she strode toward the table until she was looking right up at him but her stare could make even the mightiest man feel small. “You worry about what it can do, and it’s happening now. The power you claim to not want is making you desperate to hold on to it. You reason you command for the war still coming for us. No one doubts you. But when you say that and then summon Brienne like a criminal---”

“That is not my intention—”

“You had Bran look into her past. She’s here so you can test her. What if she knew all along of her roots and just thought to keep quiet? Would you listen? Or would you hang her? The knight who has done nothing but protect the sisters you’ve come to know?”

“You only know of the danger to you,” Jon suddenly lashed out. “You don’t know about the Unsullied who owe me no loyalty. The Dothraki who will not hesitate to murder us in our sleep. Who will rape you, and Arya and Brienne. Throw Brienne’s children into the swamps. They remain loyal to Daenerys and without our child, they see no reason to be loyal to me. They demand what she has promised them. Stone houses. Titles. Gold. You don’t realize that now they’ve seen Brienne on the dragon of the woman they’ve come to regard as their khal, they wish to switch to her side. I don’t doubt you, Lady Brienne. But even without you as their khal, the Dothraki will still do everything they can to get what was promised to them. What was made in blood could only be fulfilled by blood.”

“That’s why we’re all here. To work together. To ensure our loyalty to each other,” Tyrion said quietly.

“Then why the fuck didn’t you just say so in the first place?” Jaime demanded. “Rather than planning together against our sister who intends to collect all our heads, you’ve wasted time testing us. Tell us to bring our children—for what? For your conscience? Or to strike us all down singly? This fucking diplomacy of yours, brother, is not helping. You want us to work together. You wish for trust,” he flung the word at Jon, spit accompanying it. Catelyn squirmed, frowning as she felt her father’s tension. Jaime tightened his hold on her as he snarled, “You’re call yourself king. A true king serves the people, is forthcoming with his subjects. You, dear boy, you may have skill with the sword, you know how to fight. You probably know how to lead. But you’re getting in too deep in something you don’t understand and you’re behaving like the paranoid shit your grandfather was.” He looked close to murderous if not for Brienne putting a hand on his shoulder when he began to advance. That seemed to bring him back but Jaime Lannister was not done. She looked anxiously at Jon, who was already half-up from his seat.

“Another word, another insult on my wife, and I will not hesitate to cut your throat—”

“No!” Tyrion shouted as Jon shot to his feet, his hand on his sword. Howland Reed grabbed him by the arm to stop him from pulling out the weapon. “My brother means nothing by it—”

“I mean every word—” Jaime began to say but Brienne shook her head at him, pleading with her eyes for him to stop. Catching himself, he held her gaze, his jaw tight as he struggled with the forced restraint. She watched him take quick, sharp breaths, as if from a run. Her eyes never left him until the hard set of his shoulders eased, signaling frustration rather than defeat. 

“Stop this!” Arya shouted. She glared at the High Table and narrowed her eyes at Jaime before turning back towards Jon. “Are you done?”

Jon, who was breathing hard, nodded stiffly.

“Let me remind you that while you’ve been testing Brienne, Cersei and her army are coming here. You want to hold on to your power then fucking stop questioning those who are loyal to you. I love you and know you as my brother despite who you really are, but I will not hesitate to strike those who hurt the people I care about. Even if they’re family.” She tapped Needle at her hip and Jon looked away.

“You have no enemies here, Jon,” Sansa said, sounding tired. “None of us are each other’s enemy. You have to start believing that.”

“We’re here for each other,” Arya added in a hard voice. “This is a war begun by men and women before we were born. It is up to us to end this.” Catelyn let out a soft squeal, which sounded like a laugh. “For the sake of today’s children. We should do all we can for none of them to know what we are going through. We are still capable of mercy.”

 

*****  
Jaime was furious for the rest of the day. Brienne had seen him angry but, knew how he looked when he was ready to kill. This had been something else, and she sensed it went deeper and involved something more. But before she could ask, he put Catelyn back in cradle and stormed off, leaving her with the children for the rest of the day.

She fed the children, changed their clothes and sang them to sleep to get some time free. For the rest of the day, she put their things to order in the room. Clothes were stashed in closets. Weapons rubbed with whetstone then hung, fingers touching them longingly. After a short while, fed and got the children changed again, played with them.

She was on the bed with Selwyn and Catelyn, making funny faces at them while the maids cleaned the room when Jaime returned, still looking tensed. He hissed at the maids to take the children and to only return when summoned. They were still scrambling to get out, clutching the children to their breasts when he ripped Brienne’s breeches open and buried his tongue in her cunt. She saw one of the maids gasp and run out; she turned away from the door left ajar, her cheeks burning as she widened the spread of her legs, Jaime’s name leaving her lips in a lewd moan.

The contractions seizing her cunt drew one cry after another from Brienne as she approached her release. Her eyes wide as she stared at the painted lizard-lion on the ceiling, she grasped Jaime’s head, pressing it between her pale thighs. She groaned loudly as his tongue pushed deep in her soaked folds, flicking at the spot that sent her right into the black sky outside the window.

As she fell back onto earth, Jaime pushed himself off her cunt and settled next to her, taking her jaw none to gently in his hand and kissing her as if in punishment, yet laced with passion. His tongue and lips were slick with the taste of her, and she blushed through her enjoyment of this forbidden pleasure, thrusting her own tongue toward him and clamping her big teeth over his lower lip. Milk dripped from her breasts. He cupped her breasts possessively while she reached down to unlace his breeches. His grunt shook against her tongue as she scooped him out, and his hand returned to her face to grip it while his scarred stump scraped across her tender nipples. She rubbed him, spreading the moisture hanging from the plump head up and down his seemingly endless length. She squeezed her thighs together, remembering, and missing so much how it felt to have him inside her.

Then he bit her on the lip, drawing blood but she moaned instead of crying out in pain. Her hand was wet with him. “Spread your legs,” he ordered gruffly, taking hold of his cock. She obeyed, lying flat on her back and watching as he aimed his cock toward her cunt and sent a thick, strong stream of semen toward the opening.

As she sighed with a dazed, dreamy look in her eyes, arching her spine, he collapsed next to her, panting. She moved closer and his arm wrapped around her waist. She threw her leg around his thigh. He smiled at her like a happy drunk, a look she had come to know of him after every time he fucked her.

“Are you alright?” She asked, reaching up to brush his golden hair from his face.

“For now,” he answered, catching her finger between his teeth and biting it before giving a soothing lick. “Jon Snow still deserves my sword.”

She tried pulling her finger when he shook his head and sucked at the digit.

 “Mine first,” she said, pink in the cheeks as Jaime moved to the next finger. “Your wife appreciates your readiness to always defend her honor, but she likes you much better alive.” Her jest eased what remained of his ire then she turned serious. “He trusts no one.”

“That’s what will get him killed.” He said. “He takes on everything on his own rather than having someone else in charge. Someone who knows better. I’m glad he intercepted you and the Stark girls but as king, he shouldn’t be out scouting in the first place. Not when we don’t know who to trust and certainly not with something as valuable as a dragon. Tyrion is growing white hairs because of him. Not that he did any better today.”

“I was scared,” Brienne admitted, giving voice to the thought she swallowed so many times since being returned to Greywater Watch on Drogon’s back. “When I saw how Jon looked at me. . .and when he summoned all of us to the Great Hall. . .”

He had looked at her with suspicion, sizing her up and seemed to assess where she was weakest, so he could strike there first. She was trembling from the euphoria of her first flight and its implication, but she felt that look to the core. Arya’s excitement distracted her, with the girl following her and Jaime all the way to their chambers where their children were. When the summons came, it was Arya who offered to go with them and called on her sister too.

Jaime sighed, shifting to lay on his back. For the first time, she saw the genuine fear in his face. “Me too.”

She put an arm around his waist, kissed him on the cheek so he turned to look at her. He twined his fingers through hers. They were looking in each other’s eyes when a soft knock came on the door. “My lady, it’s the children—” spoke the hesitant voice of a maid, followed by energetic cries.

“Let me,” Jaime said, stopping her with his stump on her thigh. She smiled gratefully and picked up her shirt from the foot of the bed while he pulled on his robe. He went to the door while she carefully arranged the blanket around her waist.

“My lord, my lady,” spoke the first of the maids. Catelyn and Selwyn were squirming and beginning to thrash in their arms. “I’m sorry, but they must be hungry. Shall we send for a wet nurse?”

“No, no,” Brienne held out her arms. “I’d rather nurse them myself.”

“Will you be needing us, my lady?”

“No,” Brienne replied, firming her hold on the baby. “Thank you, but we will be alright.”

They couldn’t leave fast enough. Jaime closed the door and looked at Brienne, who had put the children on the bed and was now pulling off her shirt.  He smirked at how Catelyn and Selwyn kicked their legs and shook their fists. “You’d think they were in the lion’s lair.”

Brienne’s cheeks heated up as she took them in her arms, carefully positioning them at her breasts. “I think one of them was the maid who caught us before,” she said, smiling and beginning to coo as little fists clamped around her breasts, followed by hungry mouths tugging at her nipples. Fascinated, Jaime sat at the foot of the bed.

“As if the kitchen wenches know nothing about fucking,” he remarked, his eyes warm at their babies. She laughed.

She had come to love moments like this. Though new, it felt familiar, somehow. She was still waiting for the newness to ebb away, for weariness and boredom to take over. What would happen, by then? Or would it always feel new with every child she would birth, if they would still come?

There was no stopping the direction of her thoughts. She had marveled to herself how Jaime quickly got over the awkwardness of holding a baby sans one hand. That unlike a lot of men, fathers, at that, he willingly held a baby. _Knew_ how to hold one.

“What are you thinking?” he asked her gently. “Tell me, my love. I can see the thoughts in your eyes.”

“Don’t be mad, okay?”

“Might there be a reason?”

“Do you know what you have with. . .with your sister?” His face tightened, and he turned away, rising from the bed so she pleaded with him. “Jaime, you know I’ve never taken what you had with her against you. You can’t choose who you love. Remember? You told me a long time ago.”

“Why do you speak of her? Why when we’re so happy?” He demanded with a rough sigh, arms rising for his hands to run through his hair. Confronted with the absence of one, he grunted and sat heavily on an armchair facing the bed. He looked at her warily.

“Because I’m not afraid of who she was and still is to you. I know you love me. I love you. All of you. Even the parts about yourself that still give you shame. They brought you to me, Jaime. Made you the man you are. Don’t be mad,” she pleaded again, holding her babies more firmly to her breasts. “Please, Jaime.”

“I have refused to think about her,” he said after a moment of quiet. He sounded like he was confessing a secret shame. “It has not been easy, but I have willfully refused to think about her. In any way. _You_ are my wife,” he said hoarsely, eyes boring hard into her despite the distance between them. “I love you. I refuse to dishonor you.”

“There is no dishonor in remembering who we loved,” she whispered, her heart in her words.

“The woman I loved for most of my life never existed, Brienne.”

“But the child?” She pressed.

“I know nothing.” He said with a sigh. “Not that I’ve made any effort to know. I don’t even know if there really is a child or Cersei lied to keep me at her side. She would say what needs to be said to get what she wants.”

“But you were. . .” she closed her eyes and when she opened them, Jaime was shaking his head, as if begging for her not to say the words. “You were _with_ her. And the child is innocent, if there is one.” 

It hurt. She could see it. Them. Knowing that how Jaime fucked her was how he had fucked his sister too. But her heart was his. She knew loving him came with pain.

Jaime looked sickened. “I was with her before I left for Riverrun and after. And I was still sleeping with her after she told me. Brienne, stop. No more. I can’t. I can’t. I’m reminded how I don’t deserve you every time. . . _I don’t want that child._ ” He didn’t finish and slumped with anguish against the chair.

“I’m sorry.” The children were now sleeping by her breasts. Carefully putting them on the bed, she went to him, forgetting in her rush that she wore not a single stitch of clothing. As she got ready to throw herself at his feet for forgiveness, he grabbed her and pushed her on his lap. She sobbed against his hair as his own tears wet her breasts. Fingers pushing through his hair, she urged him to look up at her before taking his mouth in her own. “Forgive me,” she whispered between slides of their tongues.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he whispered back, taking her head and shoving his tongue deep in her mouth.

That night she learned of another way to be taken. She had only heard of it, whispered, even laughed about, because it was the equivalent of being desecrated like an animal. Her fists pulling at the worn fibers of the carpet, she watched Jaime spit in his palm and rub his cock hurriedly before seizing her hips. It hurt. A sharp pain, as if she was being split in two. But her hunger for her husband was quick to blur the red haze clouding her mind as he fucked her. Soon she was grunting his name, her body trembling not just from the overwhelming passion between them but from the cries tearing at her throat. She glanced at their babies, fast asleep on their bed, then forward, at the fires. She listened to the crackle of flame as it ate the wood, felt herself weaken at the sharp gust of Jaime’s grunts and gasps in her ear, against her nape. She reveled at the slick slide of his chest against her back, at the soft squeaks and strain of stubborn flesh futilely resisting the thrusts of his cock.

She was a mess of sweat and semen on the carpet afterwards. Her vision struggled to focus at the image of Jaime gently taking Selwyn first to his cradle, dropping a kiss on his head and whispering for him to have sweet lion dreams. When it cleared, he was holding Catelyn, pure adoration and wonder on his face as he whispered how much he loved her before lowering her into her cradle.

She expected him to take the blanket from the bed again. Her legs were useless. But he knocked the air off her lungs when he picked her up, a grunt the only sign of his struggle. As she blushed and felt embarrassed for her body was still heavy and soft from the pregnancy, he smiled at her, joyous and beautiful, and ever leering. It was a short stride to the bed, thankfully.

But he didn’t join her immediately. Instead he strode to the table where a washbasin lay, along with a few towels. He dipped the towel in it and washed his cock. Then he went to her and wiped her clean. He flung the towel to the floor and drew the blanket over them.

“Are you alright?” he asked, caressing her shoulder.

She nodded. “I’m just really tired. It’s been a very long day.”

“Sleep,” he urged her, a kiss on her forehead. “Dream of me.”

She chuckled softly. “I know of no other.”

“You jest.”

“Do you think so? Is not your wife the most honorable person in Westeros?” She teased him, slipping her leg between his and blushing when he hooked his ankle behind her shin and tugged her closer. He spread his arms and she put her head on his chest.

“Jaime?”

“Hmm?”

“What—what we did. . .”

“Yes?” She could hear him smiling.

“I mean. . .is that. . .is it true what I’ve heard. . .” She pressed her face against his chest in embarrassment.

“What has my lady warrior wife been hearing? I’d like to know.”

Hugging him tightly, she spoke against his nipple. “Is it true that the way. . .the way you fucked me. . .that’s how men. . .sword swallowers do it?”

“Possibly. But not just them.”

“Oh.” So, men and women do it too. Well, why not? Besides her mouth and cunt, a woman had a third entry. She just never thought the whisperings could be true.

“Did it hurt?”

“At first,” she admitted. “But you were careful. So. . .so. . .”

“Yes?” That smile in his voice again.

She once again hid her face in his chest. “Will you fuck me like that again?” She raised her head, revealing her red face. “Jaime, I miss having you inside me. I can’t wait until I’m fully healed to have you. I need you. Promise me you’ll fuck me like that again.”

He licked his lips and grinned. “You really are singular, Brienne. And as your husband who delights in discovering this untamed side of you, of course. I will be glad to. But we can’t do it often. Sitting can be difficult for days.”

She blushed, remembering the first time he fucked her. Sitting down had been a challenge though he hadn’t taken her a lot. But when he returned from the battle and was fucking her several times during the day and at night, even just bending proved difficult. The discomfort was nothing, however, if it meant having Jaime’s cock fucking her cunt again and again. They spoke not just with words and sword but with fucking. Perhaps fucking was where they spoke best with each other.

“It’s unreal how we can be this happy in the time of war,” he said, his arms tight around her.

“A rare gift from winter,” she said. “Jaime?”

“Yes?”

“Why is Jon so suspicious of me? He’s Rhaegar’s son. He has the true claim to the throne. I don’t even know which Targaryen I’m descended from.”

“Robert took the throne by war, but he’s also a Targaryen by blood. If you ask me, people don’t give a fuck if the ass warming the throne is a true Targaryen or has a faint claim. What they want is a leader to protect them in times of war, who will listen to them and make sure they don’t go hungry.” His fingers drifting to her cheek, so she would look at him, he continued, “Robert won the throne but had to justify his claim to it. Your claim is through a grandmother, a great-grandmother. What worries Jon is not only because you ride the bigger dragon. You have children. Heirs to the throne should you claim it. Your honor has also reached far and wide, and despite being slightly crippled by language, the Dothraki and Unsullied know of your actions.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No. I have seen how power corrupts. Our children are good. I don’t wish them that damned throne.”

“As do I, my love. King’s Landing is a cesspool.” He kissed her fervently and drew her back in his arms. She hugged him back protectively. “It’s the cruelest thing, for a parent to wish their children to be kings or queens, princes, princesses. You will never go hungry, never have to work a day in your life but in return there is no freedom, you will be treated like some animal for trade. If you’re a woman, all that’s expected of you is to get fucked and bear the next heir. I will not allow my daughter to be reduced to that. Or my son. They can do so much more away from any bloody throne.”

“Our children,” she said wistfully. “They will ride the most spirited horses and spend their days in the sun.”

“They can choose whether to read or not. Can jump from the highest cliffs into the sea should they want to.”

“No septa will tell them they’re worthless.”

“No father will treat them as a pawn to ensure a legacy.”

“They will not know of any burden.”

“They will not know of winter.”

“No,” she kissed him on the chest, right on his heart, as if to make a vow. She stared at the starless night, knowing that somewhere was another surge of winter. She closed her eyes, wishing to banish the image of soldiers cloaked in crimson, advancing on the snow like a slowly flowing river of blood. Jaime’s arms around her was her shield.

“No,” she repeated, holding tightly onto him. “We will fight for them to never know it.”

 

*****

Cersei Lannister’s army was a black river tinged with the faintest silver light. It flowed in the chokepoint of The Neck with the smoothness of silk.

“Mounted riders can approach two at best,” Howland Reed was saying as he placed the black mapmaker in the shape of a lion’s head on the path the soldiers would be taking. “If we surround them, none of these bastards will set foot in Greywater Watch.”

“We start taking them here,” Meera said, tapping her finger on places that indicated swamps. “We hold the ground and feed them to the lizard-lions. Should some of her armies escape, this is the only place where they can go,” she added, pointing at Moat Cailin. “We can have archers and riders waiting for them.”

“According to our scouts, they’ve spotted Cersei’s ships in Blazewater Bay,” Jon said. “But she also has a military encampment on the land. We can not determine precisely where she is right now but if Lord Varys’ little birds are to be believed, she definitely with the army.”

“She will be in the camp,” Jaime spoke up. Eyes on him, he cleared his throat and glance at Brienne before continuing, “My sister hates the open water. She doesn’t like being on a ship.”

He and Jon stared at each other for a moment. Brienne frowned, wondering if her husband’s loyalty will still raise doubt at this point, now when the enemy would soon be breathing the same muggy, mossy air as them. The table hid the lower part of their bodies, so she reached for Jaime’s hand. He held hers fast.

The sky remained gray and dark when there should be daylight and night was still the blackest. A month had passed since their arrival at Greywater Watch but winter hardly showed any traces of gentling. Sometimes the nights grew so cold that the babies’ feet would be practically frozen. Jaime and Brienne kept their children bundled between them and held close to their bodies, making sure they remained warm and safe. Jaime’s stump, which Brienne discovered ached worse as the temperature dropped, was enclosed in warm furs too. Sometimes, she would tuck it between her chin and shoulder during sleep, sure that it would never feel cold against her skin.

 “Cersei’s ships are too big to approach any closer,” Jon addressed the room after turning away from Jaime. “Doubtless her men would approach on this narrow strip of land, which will only allow two mounted soldiers abreast. At most. With the mountains on one side and the swamps on the other, it should not be difficult to send them into the jaws of lizard-lions. Lady Meera would lead the forces near Greywater Watch. Ser Jaime and his men will be at this chokepoint, to prevent any more of the queen’s forces from joining their comrades. Lady Brienne and I have the air and will burn everything and everyone that appears to aid them.”

“No prisoners?” Brienne asked. “What if some soldiers wish to surrender?”

“We still take whoever vows loyalty,” Sansa answered. “Otherwise, they face execution.”

“We will try to be merciful, Lady Brienne,” Howland told her. “War should not make animals of us. But mercy has already cost too many lives.”

With the counsel over, everyone went off to ready themselves for the battle. Jaime and Brienne went to their chambers where the children were being watched over by two servant girls. Upon sighting Jaime, they scrambled off. He sighed loudly as he closed the door behind them. His temper was legendary among the servants.

Brienne had fed Selwyn and Catelyn upon waking up. Right now, they were content to be in her arms, emerald and sapphire eyes looking up at her as they sucked on their thumbs. Jaime sat down next to her in the bed and reached out to touch the thickening tuft of pale hair on Catelyn’s head.

“We can leave,” he said, resting his chin on Brienne’s shoulder. She sighed as his arm went around her. “We can take horses and put up a hut elsewhere. We will live where no one knows of us and we will raise the children. Then at night I fuck you.”

“Yes, we can,” she agreed as he touched Selwyn’s nose next. “But can we live with ourselves knowing we left people to fend for themselves? When our skill might spare our children from another war but instead chose to run?”

“No,” was Jaime’s grave reply. “No, we can not.”

She looked at him and found his eyes already watching her. He kissed her chapped lips softly, a tongue sliding across to smoothen the rough surface. “I am yours, and you are mine,” she whispered.

“Until the end of days,” he whispered back. “You and the children are the reason I live, Brienne. You are also the reasons why I fight.”

“As are mine. You and the children are all that matter.”

“I’d bar you in this chamber with them,” he said. “If your strength is not twice mine and you can not protect yourself. But I married a warrior. There is nothing I will change about what I have.”

Feeling herself tearing up, she declared, “I love you so much, Jaime.”

“And I you.” He kissed her deeply on the mouth.

They played with the children for a few more moments. It could be the last time they were together. It could be not. When it was time, it was Jaime who was burdened to remove the children from Brienne’s resistant arms. She wept then, relinquishing them at last and running out of the room. She barely heard him calling the maids back and having a guard stationed right outside of the room. Retreating behind a wall, she gave in to the tears, burying her face in her palms until a pair of arms warm with the familiar scent of sweat and leather closed around her.

“You cry as if I’d died, my love,” he chided her although his voice was thick too.

“Shut up,” she sobbed, holding him fiercely. His chuckles warmed her neck before his tears joined them. They held each other tightly until she sighed. Feeling her about to retreat, he caught her cheek in his steel hand and kissed her fully on the mouth. She moaned, easily melting against him.

“I swore never to break any vow I made to you,” he said through their kiss. His own breath trembled against her lips. “If you believe me to be a man of honor, you will cease the tears.”

“Only if you do it first,” she whimpered. She laughed as he smiled, and they kissed again.

“I love you with my life,” he told her, his eyes aglow with happiness despite being red from the tears. She cupped his face tenderly in her hands and rested her forehead against him. “Being with you has made every moment of my shit life worth every breath again.”

“You are the only one to see me as a knight and more. I intend to have you look upon me as such until we are stooped and gray.”

“I promise.”

“I believe you.”

They were staring at each other, holding hands. Around them, servants and guards scurried about, barring doors and windows, making sure they had enough weapons should Greywater Watch fall in Cersei Lannister’s hands. Though fear laced the air, they looked at each other with love. Jaime took her hands from his face, holding them in his.

They were husband and wife but also warriors. There was no way to separate these identities and list what came first. It was who they are. Warriors clad in the dark crimson armor of their house, engraved with lions on the shoulder, yet covered cloaked in the somber gray of the house they had sworn to protect. Houses no longer mattered in war, only survival. But the only way they could survive was to ensure House Stark lived. Brienne’s vow to Catelyn Stark was as still true as the day she first made them. And Jaime’s vow to protect his wife was as steadfast as when he bent the knee to her in the Great Hall of Winterfell from what felt like another lifetime.

They looked at each other. Emerald eyes soft as they gazed at swollen sapphire eyes, thin, pale eyelashes, blotchy cheeks. Sapphire eyes longing as they rested on hooded emerald eyes, slender lips that had spoken of love and covered her in kisses she never thought would ever get.

Without any prompting for each other, the words fell from their lips sure and strong.

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am yours and you are mine. From this day, till the end of my days.”

 

****

Dothraki, Unsullied, crannogmen, northmen, and what remained of the women and children who can still fight picked off the cavalry of black cloaks one by one. Arakhs sliced heads off bodies. The superior armor of the Lannister army, funded by the Iron Bank, was no match for the sharp spears of the Unsullied, and what training they had was soon proved inferior to the underhanded tactics involving camouflage employed by the crannogmen.

Horses fell in ditches, threw men into swamps where hungry lizard-lions chewed through steel to get to flesh and bone. Jaime Lannister commanded the armies on the ground, leading the charge towards the many strays that tried to escape the increasing carnage. Thousands of hoofbeats thundered on the ground, sending snow and frozen blood flying, crushing the enemy sprawled and pleading for another chance to live on their ribs and pharynx.

Jaime’s gray cloak flying behind him, he urged his horse into a wild, determined gallop toward the enemy. His courage was enough to send everyone else behind him trying to go first, to ride abreast their commander and meet the enemy’s blades. Dothraki and the Northmen surrounded him on their horses. From the sides, the Unsullied swamped the enemy.

Mounted on Drogon and Rhaegal, Brienne and Jon went after the rest of the armies. By their estimate, Cersei had managed to gather more than several thousands. The smell of blood was thick even high in the sky. Strapped securely on a harness designed by Tyrion, Brienne urged Drogon to go low. As the clouds cleared, she spied the wagons Jaime had warned might contain the Scorpion.

She was not going to wait to see if these wagons contained food or gold, instead.

“Dracarys.”

Drogon roared, unleashing a wall of flame that incinerated men and horses right where they were standing and turning the wagons into ash. She held fast when Drogon took a deep turn to the right, spying more enemies. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rhaegal incinerating other men, further back, his claws nearly touching the ground before suddenly taking off in the air again. Was it her eyes playing tricks on her or was that Arya with Jon?

She didn’t have time to think anymore of that when, from out of nowhere, a long, thick, lethal-looking spear flew toward her and Drogon. She yelled, throwing herself in a futile gesture of protectiveness on the dragon, who thankfully dived out of the way. Her breath froze as she felt the steel sing past her ear.

Angrily, Drogon was quick to find who had unleashed the spear and didn’t wait for her command to put an end to it. She shuddered, realizing how her moment of distraction nearly cost her life. Determined to focus harder, she guided and urged Drogon to blow up what remained of the Lannister forces. The ground was the brilliant color of the sun from the sky, and that of night as she approached lower, from the ashes of horses, soldiers and equipment. Cries of triumph and pain were a never-ending dirge, swelling to an ear-piercing crescendo. Drogon will not stop his bloodcurdling screams. Brienne didn’t know if she herself was screaming—it was like a thousand cries had been in her and were now unleashed.

Drogon took out a column of stragglers approaching their soldiers with a single blast of dragonfyre. Knowing that their men were safe for the moment, she had Drogon bring her back to the sky, remembering Jon Snow’s companion on Rhaegal. In the distance, she made out a cluster of black tents. She tapped Drogon to begin his descent.

“Dracarys,” she shouted, hearing the march and scramble of more of Cersei’s soldiers. The ground shook as Drogon landed, unleashing another blast of dragonfyire toward the soldiers either scrambling to escape or attack him. The camp was bigger than it appeared but appeared to be empty. Unable to see Arya anywhere, she decided to return to the battle.

She spotted Jaime right away, being as he was the only one clad in crimson and gray while the rest were in the Stark colors of gray and white, or in the gray furs and black leather donned by the Dothraki and the Unsullied. Once again flying low, she commanded Drogon to annihilate an approaching phalanx of the queen’s soldiers.

She turned back to Jaime, and to her horror, saw him fall off his horse as he jumped out of the way, narrowly missing a spear thrown at him. It pinned a Dothraki fighting behind him to a tree. With Jaime now on the ground, he was not only in danger of being trampled—there were so many dead bodies lying around that it was next to impossible to steady the self to stand up.

And she was strapped too tightly on the harness to wriggle free.

No one else noticed that their commander had fallen. Everyone was busy with his own battles.

The Lannister soldier was a whoosh of black and silver atop a white horse. She could smell his victory at slaying Jaime Lannister. She could see him already imagining how the queen would repay him—lands, a title, women, gold. Jaime managed to get to his feet and the soldier raised his sword.

“Dracarys!” She screamed, not caring about the other men from their army that Drogon would burn. Jaime was all that mattered.

Jaime, hearing her, threw himself back to the ground. Dragonfyre rushed to where he was standing and burned the soldier on the spot. As screams rose in the air, Brienne nearly wrenched off the straps and buckles of the harness and ran toward him. She tripped on dead bodies, shoved a Lannister soldier out of the way, spat right in the eye of another before slashing a dagger across his throat. As blood sputtered out and he choked, she grabbed Jaime and threw her arms around him.

“Are you alright?” She yelled. Her sapphire eyes were mad. “Are you hurt?”

“Only my ears!” He retorted. She would glare at him if not for the approaching hoofbeats of another Lannister soldier. Pushing each other out of the way, she tumbled over a pile of dead bodies while Jaime grabbed his sword from the ground and slashed at the horse’s legs. It sent the soldier flying toward Drogon, who only had to open his mouth. The soldier was not even able to scream.

Fearing Drogon would start craving human flesh, Brienne yanked Jaime away from another approaching column of enemy soldiers. They climbed on Drogon, Jaime’s arms tight around her waist. Before they flew, she gave a last command to torch the approaching soldiers.

“Burn them!” She yelled, unable to think of the right High Valyrian word. “Burn them all! _Ossēnātās!_ ”

The earth, and even the sky, seemed to shake as Drogon roared to do as he was commanded.

“Seven hells,” Jaime gasped, clutching at her so hard as Drogon stomped on bodies and horses dead and alive with increasing speed before surging high in the air. His steel hand threatened to put a crack in her ribs. “You saved me, wife.”

“Always,” she said, patting his hand in relief. “We have to get Arya. She’s in the camp. ”

“The camp? The Lannister camp?” Jaime demanded. “My sister’s?”

“Jon brought her there. Hold tight.”

_“What the fuck is she doing there?”_

Drogon swooped down, almost vertically. Brienne clutched at Drogon, his scales scratching and drawing blood from her face while Jaime bit on her shoulder to stop himself from shouting. Again the earth trembled from the force of the landing.

A few soldiers, who had been hiding earlier, started throwing spears at them. Jaime threw himself over his wife, trapping her between the unyielding, scaly flesh of the beast under them and his dented armor. Drogon screamed and growled, sending walls of dragonfyre and reaching to trap a soldier in his jaws before breaking the writhing body in half. Brienne flinched from the loud crunch of bone. Distracted from the feast, another soldier got close enough to bury a spear in Drogon’s shoulder before Brienne could stop him.

Drogon’s scream was probably heard in the entire Seven Kingdoms. Brienne was trying to scream at Jaime to let her go, that someone had to protect the dragon but it was drowned out by ear-splitting cries. Suddenly, Jaime leaped off the dragon, snatching Widow’s Wail from its scabbard and swinging it toward the soldiers.

Brienne leaped off, Oathkeeper in hand. Though the soldiers were few, they had an unpredictable dragon in pain very close by. Jaime swung Widow’s Wail at a soldier’s throat. Brienne kicked another right in the middle and buried the tip of Oathkeeper in his neck just before swinging to punch the next with her gauntleted fist.

“Get the spear off him. I’ve got this!” Jaime yelled at her, advancing briefly to disarm a Lannister soldier and swinging his steel hand toward his nose. Brienne turned, grunting and shouting in frustration as she pulled the spear from Drogon. Drogon was no better, screaming in pain and throwing fire from his mouth. She was terrified—a beast in pain was highly dangerous. A beast whose breath was fire and the size of a mountain was sure death.

It took both hands to finally pull the spear off his scaly, leathery skin, the force sending her right to the ground and onto the path of a mounted Lannister soldier. Too late did she notice this. As she stared at the hoofbeats approaching her, hearing screams and the clash of steel, she took a deep breath. _Jaime. I’m so sorry--_

A mighty scream shook the air and she felt the ripple of fire right over her chest, her face. Fighting to remain still, she listened as she heard man and horse rendered into ash, waited until she could smell only blood and smoke in the air before opening her eyes. Drogon, despite his pain, was not going to let a hole in his shoulder deter him from the fight.

Around them, the ground was consumed by fire. Tents writhed like exorcised black ghosts. Soldiers burning in their armor shouted in pain and also filled the air with desperate prayers before smoke left their blackened lips. Brienne stood between Jaime and Drogon, momentarily confused at the carnage around them.

Suddenly, Jaime made a retching sound, expelling vomit right at Brienne’s boots. As she wearily rubbed his back, Drogon growled in protest upon smelling the stench. The air was now soured by his vomit. Brienne blinked, for the first time realizing that the blackened, writhing shapes laid before them like carpets were burned bodies.

She held her breath. She was close to getting sick too.

“Why is Arya here?” Jaime demanded, wiping his gloved hand across his mouth. He looked a little green. “Where would she be?”

Brienne had no idea. She looked around, hearing on the crackle of flame and the taste of the burn now in the back of her throat, threatening to choke her. Suddenly, she pointed ahead of them.

“There.” It was a black tent emblazoned with silver lions.

“Cersei,” Jaime muttered. “Stay here.”

“Jaime—”

“Stay here,” he said firmly. “That’s an order, Brienne. I’ve never asked you to obey me. Just this once.” Seeing her resistance, he took her hand. _“Please.”_

 _We always protect each other._ It was the truth about them long before they discovered love. It was difficult to give consent, but she nodded, squeezing his hand.

“I’m here. Don’t be a hero,” she asked.

“Not if I can’t get back to you and fuck you until my last days,” he said, a twinkle on his sooty face. He smirked at her blush and headed for the tent.

There were no more guards, Brienne realized. Or even a maid, a whore. Nobody. The silence was eerie, the sound of battle so far away it was almost a whisper. Drogon, having calmed from the pain, stood quietly next to her. She glanced at the hole on his shoulder.

“We’ll get Sam fixed that in no time, don’t worry,” she said, not that he could understand her. But Drogon seemed to acknowledge her with what looked like a nod.

Suddenly, there was a strangled cry from Cersei’s tent. Ignoring her promise to Jaime, she charged towards it, slashing at the flap and finding her feet soaked in blood.

What she saw went from bad to worse.

Sprawled at her feet was a figure in a heavy black leather gown with ornate silver details.

She was standing right where the head should be.

Just a few feet away was the unconscious figure of Arya on the floor, her body lying on a pool of blood. Next to her was a head with cropped golden hair. For a moment, Brienne feared she had killed Jaime and was ready to cut the girl in half when a familiar groan and grunt reached her ears. She turned. _Jaime._

He lay on his back on one of the blood-soaked carpets, trying not to breathe too strongly lest he meet the tip of the sword held over him. Stunned, Brienne could only stare at her husband’s executioner.

 _The Mountain_.

The monster that was never far from Cersei Lannister’s side.

His helmet was gone. She saw the back of his head devoid of much hair. Her feet making sloshing sounds on the wet carpet had him turning in her direction sharply. Th sight of his face drew what little food she had managed to eat from last night.

Half of his face looked to have been eaten away. His black eyes were devoid of a soul, or of anything that hinted at a human being. Brienne steadied her hold on Oathkeeper.

From the floor, Jaime groaned, “Don’t hurt her.”

The Mountain stepped over him, wielding a sword that was twice the length and width of Oathkeeper. Brienne’s eyes never left him, watching his movements. He was big and maybe fast.

She hoped she was wrong about the latter.

He attacked her first, his sword cleaving a table in two and sending fruit and wine flying. Brienne slammed into the cloth wall, turning away just as shards of glass from the wine bottle imbedded in her cheek. She wailed from the pain but managed to slash her sword at the blade coming toward her. Her actions sent her sword cutting through the tent. Air thick with smoke swooped deep in her lungs and she rolled to the side as The Mountain slashed toward her again.

Fights were never fair but this time, she realized how outmatched she was. Size was not a deterrent to the monster’s efficiency, and no matter how expert the hand holding Valyrian Steel, it was always the better and stronger fighter that would win. Brienne’s relief and finding herself on her feet was cut short as he stepped toward her, the edge of his sword slicing at her cheek.

She dived to the ground and slashed at his thigh. There was no sound from The Mountain.

“My sword,” Jaime grunted, throwing it toward her. She caught it and jumped to her feet, Widow’s Wail and Oathkeeper meeting in a cross as The Mountain’s sword tried to cut through her. Gritting her teeth, she glared in his soulless eyes as she poured what strength she still had to throw him off. She startled him by feigning a lax in grip, bringing his head closer to her.

She slammed her forehead right on his skull.

Silence again, although her attack had him staggering slightly. She shot back to her feet, holding two swords. Waiting. Ready.

His eyes zeroed in on her. At that moment, Brienne saw something click in him.

He was going to kill her. _He was not going to stop until she was dead._

She surrendered to the sing of steel and the smell and taste of blood. It was like battling an actual mountain for the monster was unyielding, relentless and thirsty for blood and bones. She fell on the carpet slick with blood, tired but her eyes still glowing from the fight. As the sword approached her face, she heard Jaime cry out. She heard rage and pain, fear.

And then a familiar, menacing growl.

As The Mountain’s sword fell toward her face, she managed to curl up into a ball, bloodied hands wrapped around her head and nape as heat blasted right on top of her. When it passed, she dared to look and saw the fires eating on his flesh, his face still stoic and his mouth closed. He fell toward her and she rolled out of the way, tripping on Arya’s body. It caused the girl’s body to turn and she saw her eyes wide open. Dark.

And lifeless.

“No!” She cried out in disbelief. Looking through the flames, she saw Jaime struggling to rise to his feet. “Jaime!”

Terrified that her husband was also at the Stranger’s door, she ran to him, tripping over the melting armor surrounding The Mountain. Drogon’s snout pulled away as she crashed next to Jaime, hugging him and quickly pawing at his body for any marks, injuries.

“I’m alright,” he told her. “I’m not hurt. He just threw me.”

“Can you move?” She was speaking loudly, knowing what being thrown could do. Jaime nodded, pointing at his legs.

“Oh, gods. Please, I can’t lose you,” she gasped, hugging him tightly. He grunted but hugged her back just as fiercely. He kissed her on the cheek.

“Help me up, my love. I think I broke my leg, though.”

She tucked her arm under his and pulled him upright. Leaning heavily against her, Jaime stared at the fires consuming The Mountain before shifting his attention to Arya.

“He was standing over her when I came in,” he said. “She was already dead. I’m sorry, Brienne.”

No tears came. Not now. Instead, all Brienne could do was stare at the dead bodies around them. The Mountain. Cersei Lannister.

“She killed Cersei,” she said woodenly. “She ended it, Jaime. She protected us. But she’s still your sister.”

She looked at him. Sorrow was etched deeply on his face. He _had_ loved her. Despite her atrocities and her abuse, he had loved her. She was his blood.

“My sister is dead,” he said. He seemed to speak to himself. “She died a long time ago, Brienne.”

She kissed him and held him tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It is done. The war is over.”

It should bring them relief. Someday, maybe. Westeros was safe. They would be many pieces to assemble and put the Seven Kingdoms back together. But they were safe. Their children will never know of war, nor of winter.

But not all children.

“We need to bring Lady Arya back to her family.”

 

******

It was spring when Lady Arya’s bones were finally placed in the crypts of Winterfell. Sansa, Bran, Jon, Brienne and Jaime, Tyrion, Podrick, Lord Royce, gathered in front of her carved image, surrounded by other stone figures of the Starks that had fallen: Ned, Catelyn, Robb and Rickon.

The darkness of the crypts was much like the recently-passed winter, and in fact it was still quite cold. Sansa reached up to touch her sister’s stone cheek.

“You always promised to protect us,” she whispered, her voice thick from the tears she was still not done from shedding. “Because of you we all stand here today.”

It hurt Brienne, not because she failed in her vows, but that someone so young would never see spring. She stared at Jon, wondering still whose idea it was for Arya to assassinate Cersei Lannister. If it also meant she was going to wear the queen’s face and recall her armies. No one would ever know. Though she guarded Sansa and Arya, there were still areas within the family where she could never cross. Perhaps the Starks had planned it together and knew the risks.

At least they remained a family despite the trials. She glanced at Jaime and Tyrion. It was Jaime’s decision to leave Cersei’s corpse behind to rot, which Tyrion had greatly disapproved of. He had been the one to send soldiers to get her body, causing his brother’s displeasure. Tyrion had tried pressing Brienne to have Jaime see reason in having their sister buried in the Lannister crypts. She agreed with Tyrion but understood why her husband refused to have his sister, even her bones, set foot in Casterly Rock. Her actions had not only brought dishonor to their name but nearly led to their end. She herself did not want what remained of that woman anywhere near her and Jaime. The child Cersei claimed to have turned out to be a lie, and Brienne would never forgive her for the torment it had caused Jaime, as he was haunted weeks after leaving her that he had betrayed their unborn child.

As such, Cersei’s bones were still in a wooden box in-laid with gold. With Jaime now the Lord of the Rock, there was without question that she will never be buried there. Not while he remained alive.

One by one, they left the crypt. It did not escape Brienne’s notice how Tyrion and Sansa reached for each other’s hand. They barely spoke a word to each other before the final battle. Though Sansa’s marriage to Ramsay had been consummated, her marriage to Tyrion was never annulled. They remained married and seemed to have been brought closer by the wars and their grief.  Only they knew the exact state of their relationship, but Brienne knew that they will not be together long. Tyrion was going to be Hand of the King.

 After the Battle at The Neck, Jon, riding on Rhaegal, claimed the Iron Throne. Westeros was literally in shambles and work getting the continent back on its feet would take years. But with the Night’s Watch, the Eyrie, now led by House Royce, Houses Lannister and Tarth supporting him, he was accepted as the new ruler without any question. Jaime sardonically retorted it wasn’t so much his prowess in command and the sword that secured the throne, but because of the dragon.

Despite the animosity between them, Jon asked Jaime serve in the Small Council, in an undisclosed capacity. Jaime and Brienne had a lengthy discussion about it before giving the king their decision: a respectful no. Jon accepted it but asked him to consider to at least serving as an advisor. This, Jaime and Brienne agreed to. It would mean he will not have to be at court unless summoned.

With Tyrion as Hand, they hoped that Jon would learn the wisdom of listening to counsel. His Small Council consisted, at the moment, of Davos Seaworth as Master of Ships, Lord Varys returning as Master of Whisperers, Lord Royce as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The positions of Masters of Coin and Laws, as well as a Grand Maester were still vacant. Of the Kingsguard, Podrick and a few Unsullied had already been named. Or rather, Ser Podrick Payne, knighted at long last by Jaime Lannister.

Brienne was folding baby clothes in her chambers when someone knocked on the door. “Enter,” she said, and immediately got to her feet when Sansa entered. “My lady,” she said but the younger girl smiled and shook her head.

“As you are, Brienne. I think we’ve been through too much for you to still address me so formally,” Sansa said, sitting down next to her. Taking note of the trunks, she remarked, “You will not be staying any longer, it looks like?”

“We have a long journey ahead of us,” Brienne replied. Their children would be turning a year old soon but were still too young for a hard, arduous journey by love. They will be taking a ship to Casterly Rock.

“Indeed you do. I came here to wish you good fortune. And to repeat my eternal gratitude for your service to my sister and me,” she said, glancing at her lap for a moment. Brienne clucked her tongue in sympathy as she said, “Will it get easier, knowing my sister is no longer around? How. . .how did you deal with what happened to your father, Brienne?”

“I still am,” Brienne told her honestly. Every time she uttered her son’s name, when she saw her own eyes, her daughter’s she was reminded of her father. “I sometimes forget he’s no longer with us. Maybe it’s only their bodies no longer there. But something of them remains? I’d like to think that, anyway.”

“I have always admired Arya’s bravery.”

“Then perhaps that’s what you should take with you day by day.” Brienne took her hand. “But you too, are brave.”

“Thank you, Brienne. Do not forget that you not only have an ally in the north, but also a friend.” Sansa said, squeezing it. “Me. . .and my husband.”

“Your husband?” Brienne said carefully.

“I know things are difficult with our husbands right now,” Sansa told her. “But Tyrion loves Jaime. He only wishes to do what’s right, in spite of their sister did. But I do understand why Ser Jaime doesn’t wish for her to be buried in the Rock.”

“Thank you.”

“They will know how to fix this.”

“I hope I’m not too forward,” Brienne cleared her throat. “But. . .Lord Tyrion. . .he is your husband?”

“He is a good man. I think in my own way, I love him. And maybe he loves me too. He has always protected me. He has the courage of men twice his size. I hope, even if he will be in King’s Landing for most of the year, he will see Winterfell as home.”

“I believe he will.” Brienne told her sincerely.

The day came for Jaime and Brienne’s departure from Winterfell. It would be a two days’ ride to Deepwood Motte, where a ship waited to take them to Lannisport. The people of Winterfell watched with barely-restrained amusement as Jaime and Brienne argued about her having to ride in a wagon. Jaime didn’t like their children under the care of maids even for just a few hours—not without Brienne, anyway. Brienne argued that the twins were already weaned and could manage without their mother for a couple of hours.

The decision eventually made was this: they would take turns being with the children in the wagon, while the other rode with the soldiers. As infuriating as her husband was, Brienne secretly thought it sweet that he didn’t want servants to be the only faces their twins would see for hours. He was, in fact, quite adverse to help, shooing off servants once he was in the room upon returning from sparring and his duties. Though Selwyn and Catelyn now had their own chambers, sometimes Jaime would still bring them to their bed.

Jaime, already on his mount, held hers steady as she climbed on. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

“Ready for what happens next, my love?” He asked her, winking.

“The question is, is the world ready?” She bantered back, laughing.

“It almost looks quite bearable, in the spring,” Jaime said, looking around Winterfell. “I’m surprised to say that I’ll be missing this place. It’s special, you know.”

And with that, he threw a heated stare toward the center of thighs, moving slowly towards her breasts before lingering on her mouth. Brienne blushed so vividly her face could be seen even from a distance.

“Shush, Jaime,” she hissed.

“You stole the words right out of my mouth,” he continued to tease her. “May I remind you that a ship is quite cramped and the walls very thin. Not that I mind your enthusiastic declarations of how much you love my tongue in your cunt, Brienne. Or my cock in your---”

“Jaime!” She screeched, glaring as he burst out laughing. “I swear, another word, and I’ll have Drogon fry you on the spot!”

Overhead, Drogon flew over them, roaring.  

 

******

 __  
  
Salt. Warm, wonderful, heady salt.

Brienne had been awake for a while but remained on the bed. Though the scent of the sea was sharper and the sun warmer, she loved these differences from her homeland. Tarth was still home, it will always be, and half of the year was spent there so the children will not forget their Stormlands roots too. But Casterly Rock was home too. Anywhere with her family was home, truth be told. But there must always be sea and sand, rather than snow.

Though she was still and relaxed, her body sang with anticipation. Jaime continued to sleep behind her, his breath warming her nape, his lips brushing against her bare shoulder. His hand rested firmly between her thighs, with a long finger tucked between the soft folds of her cunt. She blushed, unable to resist squeezing her thighs together.

Jaime hummed against her shoulder. “My love.”

When he called her that, she was just hopeless. It was three years since they left Winterfell, and close to four when they White Walkers were annihilated, and Cersei Lannister decapitated by Arya Stark. It felt like a long time ago, but Brienne still welcomed each day with wonder and gratitude. There was not a moment too small or insignificant.  

“Jaime.”

She turned in his arms, giving him lips he eagerly took but in a soft, sleepy kiss that still had her toes curling. As their tongues sparred lazily, he drew her pale leg over his bare, hairy golden thigh. She stroked the soft, golden hairs on his head, caressed the side of his neck, toward his shoulder. Then he moved, pressing her on her back, a knee urging her legs to spread.

He drew his mouth away from her to kiss down her throat. She gasped as his finger fucked her, making the ceiling adorned with golden lions on a field of deep crimson dance and blur before her eyes.

_“Jaime.”_

His name left her throat, filled with passion and longing. In answer, he nuzzled her breasts, rounder now from her pregnancy. She smoothed his hair away from his face, watching as he opened his mouth to take a plump nipple inside. She moaned at the sound of his wet kisses, at the roughening thrusts of his finger in her swelling and moistening with need.

He suckled hungrily on her nipples, hand and stump holding her wrists captive over her head while the length of his cock rubbed and teased her slit, her clit. They had more than made up for their separation, but their hunger had yet to abate. It seemed to grow with each joining, leaving them perpetually in need until their bodies were one once again.

“Brienne,” he said hoarsely. “Look at me. I want your eyes on me, love.”

She obeyed, no longer worried at baring her want for him, shining so from her sapphire eyes. As his mouth closed over hers, she felt him take his cock in hand then guide it inside her. She spread her legs wide, familiarity and intimacy having long erased her hesitation in being so wanton. Now she reveled in it.

Her wrist again imprisoned by his hand, they stared in each other’s eyes, panting wildly, hotly, as he fucked her as if to get through the feather mattress. She groaned against his lips at feeling every warm, hard inch of his cock sliding in and out of her cunt. She squeezed around him at every thrust, wanting him trapped inside her for always.

They cried out in unison at their release, their roars living up to the name of the glorious beast that signified their house. Jaime gasped and collapsed heavily against her. She was breathless; he was in fact heavy but she was bigger and stronger and could take him. She ran her palms down his sweaty back, loving his weight on her, his rapid breath on her cheek, the stickiness of his semen wetting her thighs.

“Do you think the servants have a wager for how many mornings we begin by fucking?” Jaime drawled, rolling off her with a look of drunken satisfaction on his face.

“Oh, gods, I hope not,” she said, still catching her breath although there was a shine in her eyes that made her look quite lovely, and more so with the sun limning their sweat-slicked bodies. “Haven’t we scandalized enough of them already?”

Jaime Lannister’s lust for his taller, plain-faced wife was thought to be a joke at first, until a servant walked in one them one morning with his face pressed against her cunt. Since then, a number of servants had caught the Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock in various stages of fucking. Brienne accused Jaime of staging their fucking to get caught. He just smiled, obvious unembarrassed by their flagrant display of desire.

“But it’s fun,” he reasoned, biting her firm shoulder playfully.

She rolled her eyes. “You like breaking rules too much.”

“And you like following them way too much, all the reason why it’s such fun fucking you, dear wife,” he said, enjoying her fiery blush. He suddenly kissed her on the lips and leaped out of bed nude.

“What are you doing?” She asked, rolling languidly on the bed. “The sun’s just out.”

“I thought we could go out riding with the children.”

She smiled and sat up. Selwyn and Catelyn were still too young to ride on their own, but they squealed with joy when their parents took them riding on horseback. She loved hearing them laugh.

They got dressed, Brienne wrapping Jaime’s stump with a protective cloth first before strapping on his steel hand. He kissed her hand and kept holding it as they went to their children’s chambers. He knocked on Selwyn’s door while she went to Catelyn’s, waking up her sweet daughter with a kiss.

Despite their age, Selwyn and Catelyn were already tall. They had long, coltish limbs. Their cheeks were often pink from the sun but it was Selwyn who inherited his mother’s freckles. The children had pale hair as babies but as they grew older, the shades became quite different. Catelyn’s was a mass of unruly pale ringlets that no amount of ribbons could keep away. Selwyn’s hair was like spun gold.

They helped the children get dressed. Catelyn loved breeches and boots and Brienne had given firm instructions to her septa to allow her daughter to dress however she liked. While she did wear a dress when the occasion called for it, like her mother, she preferred the freedom provided by breeches.

With their horses saddled and each with a child, Jaime and Brienne took off on their steeds. Their cries and shouts roused the keep slowly starting their day. Jaime, laughing as Selwyn squealed for him to go faster, led them towards Lion’s Mouth. The guards barely had time to leap out of the way.

Jaime and Brienne raced each other to the beach of the Sunset Sea. Brienne, murmuring to Catelyn to hold on tightly to the reins, spurred her horse to gallop faster and faster. Catelyn shrieked with delight, and it was all the encouragement her mother needed. Soon, they left the men behind, and made sure to kick a trail of sand at them. Brienne laughed at Jaime’s howl of protest.

She slowed the horse into a trot, and this was how Jaime and Selwyn were able to join them. They steered the horses to the shore for the sea water would be good for them.

“When can I ride, Mother?” Selwyn asked her with a whine. “Father says I should ask you.”

“He did, did he,” Brienne mused.

“He said I can have a horse this big too,” Catelyn added, patting the mare they were on.

“You will get your horses when you are big enough. And you will ride horses bigger than the ones we’re on,” as Brienne spoke, she heard the familiar cry of Drogon. Jaime shielded his eyes as they looked up at the sky.

“Perhaps you will ride Drogon,” he said to the children.

“Why?” Catelyn asked.

“Because you are lions as well as dragons, my sweet,” Jaime told her. “You belong on the land as much as you belong in the air.”

“What about sea dragons?” Selywn pointed at the water. “Maester read us a story about sea dragons.”

Jaime and Brienne did not want a very rigid education for their children. They emphasized to the maester that there must be time made for stories and other tales, along with histories.

“Maybe you will be the first Lannister to do so,” Jaime told him. He smiled at Catelyn. “Or maybe your sister. Better if both.”

Brienne kissed her daughter on the back of the head, blushing. “Or three.”

Jaime frowned. “What do you mean?”

She beamed at him. “I wanted to be sure, Jaime. I saw the maester yesterday. There will be another Lannister in six moons, I think.”

Floored at her news, Jaime tightened his steel hand around Selwyn’s chest and gripped the reins tighter with the other. “Truly? Another child?”

She nodded.

Bursting into a smile that could rival the sun before them, he declared, “Brienne, I know I tell you often that you and the children are the very reasons for my life. But to have another. . .” Suddenly, he looked towards the sea.

“Jaime?” She asked after a moment because he remained quiet. Catelyn looked at her father worriedly as Selwyn reached up to touch him on the jaw.

“Father?”

“I am happy,” Jaime said, taking his son’s hand and kissing it. He smiled at Brienne and Catelyn and there was no doubting the joy taking over him. “To have created another life with you, Brienne, it’s just. . .it overwhelms me in the best way. And now I get to see you bloom with our child. Hold your hand as you bring her to the world.”

“Her?” She nudged the horse closer so she could touch his cheek. It was shaven smooth now, and he looked much younger. “You sound sure.”

“I may be wrong, but the child will be loved. Is already loved.” He turned to Selwyn. “Lad, your mother needs a most proper hug. Let’s get off the horse, shall we?”

He jumped off first and took Selwyn from the saddle. Then he walked over to Brienne and Catelyn to take his daughter in his arms. To Brienne’s surprise, he offered her his hand. A knight for always, her husband, she thought, smiling shyly at him.

“Children,” Jaime told them, his eyes never leaving her face. “Find the prettiest shells for your mother. But don’t venture too far or no dessert tonight.” He looked at them now, his expression firm. “Do you understand?”

Catelyn nodded. “Yes, Father. We promise. Come on,” she took Selwyn by the hand and ran off.

Jaime watched the children run, then looked above. Drogon continued to circle over them, like a protective, menacing bird of prey. Brienne blushed as his hands caressed her belly through her shirt.

“It’s still flat,” he said just before cupping her breast. She gasped against his mouth. “But I should have known, just from how this feels.”

“Now you know for sure,” she murmured, feeling herself getting weak from his gentle but searing caresses. His hand slipped under her shirt to continue fondling her bare breast.

“What have we done to deserve paradise such as this?” He asked, kissing her softly.

Her arms rose to wrap around his shoulders. She looked in his eyes. Once, they had looked at her as if she was worthless, and from his lips, only the cruelest words. Now those lips only spoke of how he loved her, and his eyes saw her as if she were something more than all the gold in the world.

She thought him the lowest of men. Scum. Not fit to live. Until she discovered his honor. Until she saw with her eyes a man cursed for having made the harder choice. For the first time, she understood his bitterness. And pain. Pain was something she had always known.

What have they done to deserve this paradise? She wondered herself, loving the beauty of his eyes, the warmth of his touch, the sound of their children’s giggles. Was it oaths? Was paradise the reward for having fulfilled their oaths?

No. It was not oaths to protect two girls, nor was it the oath to return to each other alive at the end of every battle. Oaths were only a small part of what they have done. And will continued to do, now that there were no more monsters to slay, spirits of mad queens to haunt them, and war. In peace, they were finally free to do what they had vowed in the godswood, their words true despite the doubts and their own misgivings to their forced union.

“We love each other,” was her answer. “After everything that’s happened, when we have every right to be angry and bitter, in the end we still chose to love each other.”

“I should have chosen you a long time ago,” Jaime said, speaking against her lips. “There is still much to do to make up for the time lost because I was a stubborn fool.”

“What matters is you still chose me, Jaime,” she assured him. “We can not have regrets when we’ve been given a chance, right?”

“I can’t disagree, my love.”

She laughed as he suddenly slipped to his knees, pushing her shirt up until her belly was bared. He pressed his lips on the firm flesh, hugging her tightly. She held him to her.

The sun loved their children as they bent to gather shells as instructed by their father. The horses neighed in impatience. Wet sand clung to their boots, their pants. Brienne looked out into the Sunset Sea, tearing from the brilliance of the sun.

When Drogon unleashed his roar from the sky, it was in echo of her heart bursting from the love she never thought possible. Jaime stood beside her, arms closed around her waist. Brienne rested her chin on his shoulder.

After everything, they finally found peace in their corner of the world, grand and golden.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading my first GoT-divergent fic. I'll stop whining how difficult it is and will just focus on stuff that helped me.
> 
> To get a 'feel' of the battle, I started reading The Silk Roads: A New History of the World by Peter Frankopan. It is beautifully written, and it's THE World History that should be taught in schools. I love every page so far. Netflix documentaries on Afghanistan helped me a lot too in writing the scenes at The Neck. Michel Foucault's Madness and Civilization and The Birth of The Clinic were also invaluable tomes. I started reading the Foucault books to get some insight on Cersei although in the end, we don't see her. I hope her mistakes in military strategy, such as cramming her ships in that narrow bay, and forcing her army to take on the North through the Neck clearly indicated her insanity, at least. One has to be a mad idiot being that the North can only be accessed by that chokepoint in winter. 
> 
> I started watching a few episodes of Outlander and initially thought that Jaime and Brienne should fuck right before the battle. I actually wrote the scene and deleted it before posting the conclusion. It felt excessive, honestly. That's odd coming from someone who writes a lot of smut but yeah, that was my reason for removing it. It felt excessive. I think them holding hands and repeating their vows had more impact. Besides, there were already a couple of smutty scenes before the battle.
> 
> Which brings me to the anal sex. WE know saliva doesn't work as a lubricant. But the characters here don't. I assume this is the first time Jaime engages in this act ever so, yeah, he doesn't know stuff about oils yet. And yeah, WE also know that penetrative sex of any kind should take place at least six weeks after birth. I know it's stupid to say that it's fantasy so it should be acceptable but I'm saying it anyway. If a lot of viewers can get past the Westeros jet pack in the show, a little anal can't possibly be that big of a deal in fiction, hopefully.
> 
> Believe it or not, for Jaime and Brienne's goodbye, I was trying to channel that scene from Harry Potter (I know! The fuck, right?) when his mom, dad, godfather, etc. walk with him on his way to surrender to Voldemort. I loved how ordinary it seemed. That's why Jaime and Brienne were with their children and just trying to be as normal while they still can.
> 
> I made a mistake on "Valar" in Chapter 9. It should be "Valahd." Sorry. My bad. I watched the Episode 9 of Season 5 and it really sounded like she said Valar!
> 
> ****
> 
> So, that's another fanfic done! I'm so happy because now I can focus on my other stuff! But before I go, allow me to thank everyone who read this and made the time to leave kudos and comments. I'm sorry updating as fast as I used to isn't possible these days--professional commitments are eating up my time! Well, in order to write this stuff, I gotta earn the money! 
> 
> But really, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart to everyone who was with me from the very beginning.
> 
> I gift this story to SeleneU, hoping that this humble effort cheers her up even just a little. Sweetie, I know you love angst so I hope this story satisfied some of that craving, and the smut too! I hope it does. I've said this before, but thank you for your friendship. :-)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I'm writing in the TV canon universe, although with obvious divergent elements. Cersei ensures that the rift between her and Jaime will remain unknown, because it will make her look weak. During their time apart, Jaime had managed to secure the loyalty of the remaining Lannister troops from Riverrun and Highgarden. So, my idea is, because no one in Westeros except the twins know exactly what happened to them, people will interpret Jaime's gathering of his troops as being under Cersei's command. She has also continued to take over the rest of the continent.
> 
> Jaime does send a raven to Tyrion telling him what happened but Qyburn has little birds everywhere, as well as other spies. That's how they intercept the note and why Tyrion believes his brother and sister betrayed them. 
> 
> In line with where the TV show left with Jaime, he means to fulfill his oath to the north and that's why he's there. Speculating about what might happen with this premise inspired the writing of this story.
> 
> Except for sharing scenes in the show, Jon and Brienne have not had any verbal exchange in the show. Given where Brienne's loyalties lie, I believe she would not be one hundred percent supportive of Jon as king because he's a bastard. They may not exactly hate each other but there has to be some resentment between them.
> 
> Thanks for reading! This is the shortest I've written so far, whether one-shot or multi-fic. Fucking nervous because this is seriously out of my comfort zone.


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